


Kintsugi

by WordWeaver81



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 191,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordWeaver81/pseuds/WordWeaver81
Summary: Set post-Civil War. Steve takes a gamble that Tony isn't trying to take revenge on him by introducing him to someone he claims can help Bucky recover. The woman does seem like she genuinely wants to help. Bucky finds that removing Hydra's controls from his mind is just the first step in the long process of learning how to live - and have friends, and love - again.





	1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Captain America or Marvel. Original character is original and thus, mine.**

**Prologue**

Ever since word began to spread that Tony Stark was doling out grants and donations like parade candy, the invitations to various galas and fundraisers increased exponentially. As a much younger man, Tony had looked forward to them, filled with beautiful women and enough mind-altering substances to distract an army from the various slings and arrows of daily life. The Tony of just a few years ago was still fond of them. Money and status brought with it certain privileges, and he had grown accustomed to moving in certain circles. He attended the soirees Pepper pointed him at, and generally enjoyed himself. Over the past year, however, the events he had previously loved were beginning to feel more and more intrusive. He would pick one each week to attend, dress in his best suits and his most convincing smile, and rub elbows with the upper crust for an evening. He found a few interesting projects to invest in, and even the odd one that seemed promising, but nothing that captivated him, nothing that struck him as something useful in the fight against whatever was coming. He kept going, though, on the off chance he would find something, anything, that might lead to the next great discovery, some connection that would lead him to solve the riddle of how to keep the world safe.

Tonight was no different. One strong drink was enough to dull the keening voice in the back of his mind to get back to the lab, back to work, back to his search for next innovation that might make his suits unstoppable, or at least good enough to defeat whatever the universe might throw at them next. He turned his attention instead to banal conversation. The food was flavorless, the music uninspired, and he found himself wondering how he used to like these events. He tried not to think about how much he would rather be at home; not in the cold and empty bed he hadn't bothered with in weeks, but in the lab, working steadily until he either passed out or Friday talked him into setting down the equations for a few hours. He tried not to think of the casualties in his latest battles with his inner demons; those he tried desperately to hold onto but that slipped through his fingers like handfuls of sand. It had only been a few weeks since he had fought with Rogers and Barnes, and then had half of the Avengers vanish with them, cutting their tiny army in half in a time when they needed to be increasing their resources instead. Ever more, it felt as if the job of defending the planet was falling squarely on his shoulders, and some days he felt as if the weight of it might break him. Despite the size and grandeur of the ballroom, the air seemed still and stifling. When the walls started to feel as if they were closing in on him, he excused himself and escaped to the nearest balcony. Here, the air was at least cooler. Tony set his drink down on the stone balustrade and took a deep breath, raising his eyes to the night sky. The deep breath turned into a gasp as he saw an alien fleet stretched out among the stars above him. He immediately reached for the cufflinks that doubled as a call button for his suit, preparing to become Iron Man and fight them all off by himself, if necessary. He glanced at the party behind him, full of innocent people oblivious to the danger above them, then looked back up at the stars and blinked at the suddenly empty sky. Letting out his breath, he jerked his hand away from the cufflink and leaned on the balustrade. He put his other hand to his face and realized that it was suddenly numb.

"Mr. Stark, I was hoping you would be here tonight." The quiet voice came from the shadows at the edge of the balcony. Tony turned with a frown to see a small, slender woman with dark hair approaching him, her hand extended in greeting. "Dr. Nyssa Taylor." He took her hand, and his body immediately relaxed, all traces of anxiety vanishing instantly. He blinked and looked at her more closely. Despite her diminutive stature, she was striking, with her dark hair swept up to the top of her head, then cascading down past her shoulders in a waterfall of curls. She wore a shimmering lavender gown that left her arms and shoulders bare, but clung to her slender figure before flowing down almost to the floor. It was her hazel eyes that were most arresting, and seemed to see through to his soul. He wondered how long she had been standing there, and how much she had witnessed.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Taylor," he replied. "I didn't notice you here earlier." She smiled at him.

"I tend to keep a low profile at these things," she acknowledged. "The spotlight doesn't suit me nearly as well as it does you." Tony looked her up and down.

"I find that hard to believe." He held up a finger as he finally placed the name. "Phoenix Rising Foundation, correct?" She nodded, and he pointed at her. "Pretty sure I already gave at the office." She chuckled.

"You did, and very generously. I'm not here to ask you for money." He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I heard about your Binarily Augmented Retro Framing and thought perhaps we could collaborate on therapeutic applications and treatment protocols. Also, possibly brainstorm some different names. I'm not sure I could convince my clients to try something called BARF, even if it was invented by the great Tony Stark." Tony snorted.

"I hate to admit it, but sometimes I'm better at inventing these things than naming them."

"It's good to know your strengths." She propped her elbows on the parapet and looked up at the dark sky above them. Tony frowned as he noticed that she was now wearing gloves, but he didn't recall seeing her put them on. "I know mine. I would also like to offer my services to you, Mr. Stark. I think you would greatly benefit." Tony frowned and took a step back.

"What do you know about me?" he asked suspiciously. She turned towards him calmly, with an expression he couldn't immediately identify.

"I know that you nearly died four years ago, when the aliens invaded New York. I know that you've been throwing money at anything that potentially could help defend the planet in the future, superhuman and otherwise. I know you've had several very public losses in the past few weeks, and a significant personal one. I know the look of a man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. And I know you were having an anxiety attack out here, just a few minutes ago. You haven't been sleeping, and when you do, you have nightmares of the aliens returning, or something even worse that you haven't figured out yet. You're still trying to rationalize and explain what you saw up there –" she gestured towards the stars "- and it's driving you crazy that you can't yet. You spent millions on a therapy program rather than just talking with a person because you're more comfortable working with machines than opening up to people." There was no judgement in her tone, just a recitation of facts that she seemed quite sure of. "I know that you don't ask for help, which is why I'm offering. It isn't anything to be ashamed of. It doesn't mean anything other than that the man in the suit is still human. But it's not something you can make go away by throwing money and tech at it." For once, Tony found himself without a snappy comeback.

"Who the hell are you?" he mumbled under his breath. She smiled at him and gave a small curtsy.

"Just a therapist, Mr. Stark. Let me know if you are interested… in either offer." Tony watched her leave, then picked up his glass from where he had left it on the balustrade. He started to take a drink, but then paused as he noticed the business card that had been slipped underneath it. Shaking his head, he considered it for a long moment before he slid it into his pocket.

It wasn't until hours later, when he was back at home in his lab, that he finally placed the woman's expression. Tony Stark was used to eyerolls and annoyance, he was used to tolerant smiles, exasperation or even adoration. Lately, he could also add anger and betrayal to that list, along with concern and worry, mostly from Rhodey. But it had been a long time since anyone had looked at Tony with compassion.


	2. Olive Branch

**Olive Branch**

Switzerland was one of the few European countries that had refrained from signing the Sokovia Accords, secure in its historic neutrality, so Zurich was safer for the ex-Avengers than other places might be. It was an attractive destination for the wealthy and powerful. Steve Rogers considered himself neither, and felt quite out of place in the opulent hotel, even – or maybe especially – in the tuxedo he was wearing. He took the elevator to the top floor and tried not to look too awkward or obvious as he strode into the room. He was surrounded by tables bedecked in luxurious linens and high-end flatware, and people dressed in tuxedos and sumptuous ball gowns, which somehow felt more menacing than heavy artillery and flak jackets. Floor to ceiling windows gave a spectacular view of the mountains around them. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the room to the lavishly appointed table in the corner. Conversation around the table stopped abruptly as he approached.

"Hello, Tony," he said neutrally. Tony swiveled his head towards him, and for an instant the anger and contempt that flashed across his face let Steve know he had not been forgiven. Then Tony's expression relaxed into a familiar smile, and he gestured to the empty chair at the table.

"Thanks for coming by, Steve," he said, as if this were an everyday occurrence. As if he and Steve regularly met in high-end restaurants over thousand dollar plates. As if they hadn't been estranged for over a year. "Have a seat." Steve sat down slowly, taking in the rest of the table. He inclined his head with surprise at the other dining companion that he recognized.

"Dr. Banner," he said in greeting. "Good to see you." Bruce smiled and nodded, though he appeared somewhat anxious, glancing nervously around at the other dinner patrons and the windows showing exactly how high they were above the ground. The dark-haired woman sitting next to him touched his hand lightly, and he visibly relaxed. She looked at Steve intently, her hazel eyes curious, and he suddenly felt naked despite the expensive suit. Tony gestured to the maître d'.

"We'll take a glass of the Chateau Mouton-Rothschild for my friend," he instructed.

"The '45, sir?" Tony nodded. "Very good, sir."

"That's not necessary, Tony," Steve said, but Tony waved the protest away.

"A nice dinner is always better with a good wine. I recommend the veal, it's excellent."

"Tony, you didn't invite me to dinner because you missed me." He was finding he had little patience for Tony's theatrics. Tony had been very mysterious on the phone, insisting that Steve meet him but refusing to say why. His thumb rested lightly on the cufflink that was actually a panic button. Sam had the other one, and was prepared to come crashing through the windows if things went south. Sam had insisted. "I'm still not sure that this isn't some kind of trap." Tony shook his head.

"No trap. I think I might have a solution to… our Winter Soldier problem." Steve bristled.

"Look, I know you have plenty of reason to be angry with him, but he wasn't -" Tony cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I'm setting that aside for now. Just hear me out." He gestured to the woman sitting to his right. "This is Dr. Nyssa Taylor. She is a therapist with some particular… talents that might be able to remove the brainwashing that Hydra left."

"What sort of talents?" Steve asked. Tony looked at the woman.

"I have a dual degree in psychology and neuropsychology and have been practicing as a therapist for over a decade," she said, "I have extensive experience working with trauma survivors, including some who experience dissociative episodes." Steve looked at her blankly, unsure of the terminology she used.

"Also, she's a telepath," Tony interjected. Dr. Taylor grimaced at the term but didn't say anything to contradict him. "Essentially, she's very qualified to help Barnes." Steve frowned and looked over at Dr. Banner.

"Let me guess. You're here to vouch for her, too?" Bruce nodded.

"She won't let me run tests, so I can't explain how she does what she does. I just know she's very good at it." He didn't elaborate on how he knew, but Steve could guess. The maître d' returned with the wine, and Steve mulled it over silently as they filled his glass. The suspicion did not leave his eyes.

"So what's the catch?" he asked. Tony shook his head, spreading his hands innocently.

"No catch. We're all safer once the Winter Soldier can't be triggered anymore." Steve folded his arms over his chest, unconvinced.

"Tony, you have some very good reasons to want to undermine us," he pointed out, "And not too many to help us. How do I know that she isn't a spy working for you? What benefit do you get from this?" Tony's expression was growing cloudy at Steve's accusations. Dr. Taylor held her hands up placatingly.

"Captain - " Steve held his hand up and shook his head, about to correct her, but she took the cue and corrected herself. "Steve, then. For whatever it's worth, I take client privilege very seriously, and would never use my position to reveal secrets. To anyone." She glanced at Tony, who sighed and nodded his head, looking away. "As for Tony's part, there may be an element of personal satisfaction at the thought of your friend having to confront his memories and having to carry with him the weight and guilt of all that he's done." Steve's eyes narrowed.

"He doesn't exactly need any help to do that," he muttered. "But if there's a chance you can get rid of Hydra's programming…" He paused, considering this. He wasn't surprised by the left-handed favor from Tony. But it didn't explain the woman. "What about you? Why would you want to help us? What's your motivation?" She inclined her head towards him.

"A fair question. Part of it is professional curiosity and interest. I don't often get the chance to work with cases of intentional brainwashing. Part of it is sympathy for his situation. I am fairly certain that I can help make him safe and able to stay in control, even recover most or all of his memories. If you allow me to meet with him, I will be able to determine that for sure." Steve contemplated her for a moment. She did seem sincere, and he wanted to trust her, but the events since the rift began in the Avengers made him much more cautious about his trust.

"For what it's worth, she's almost as irritatingly noble and principled as you are," Tony offered. Their meal arrived, and Tony wasted no time digging in. Steve looked from Tony to Dr. Taylor to Bruce, then down at his plate. He still wasn't completely convinced that this wasn't part of some elaborate scheme to somehow take revenge on him and Bucky, but that seemed a little more subtle than was usually Tony's style. Besides, if this woman truly could help, would he ever forgive himself if he didn't at least try?

* * *

Waking up from cryosleep wasn't necessarily unpleasant, if you ignored the deep aching cold that lingered even after his body was back up to normal temperature, or the sense of dread that accompanied the waking, the inevitability of being sent on yet another mission. This time, however, instead of awakening to restraints, torture and dour Russian faces, Bucky opened his eyes to Steve's smile, his body cushioned in a warm, almost too soft bed.

"Good morning," said Steve, his eyes twinkling. Bucky eyed him warily.

"What's the date?" he asked, his voice weak and hoarse.

"June 2nd, 2017. You've been under a little over a year." Bucky acknowledged this with a nod.

"So, since I'm awake, you must have figured out… how to fix me?" he asked, his voice gaining strength.

"I think I may have found a solution." Steve glanced towards the door, and Bucky followed his gaze. A slender woman stood just inside the door, watching the two of them somberly. Her dark hair was pulled back, her dark clothing professional, with a high-necked tunic, grey trousers and even a pair of grey gloves. He looked back at Steve.

"She's a solution?" he asked, unable to keep the confusion out of his voice.

"She's a telepath," Steve explained. "She specializes in cases like yours. She comes… highly recommended." The woman took several steps towards the bed, but stopped shy of the foot of it.

"I would be happy to provide my resume, Mr. Barnes," she said quietly. "Let me also assure you that we will only proceed when you are comfortable, and you can choose to end any or all sessions at any time." Being in control was a novel idea for Bucky. He looked from her to Steve and back again.

"But you think you can fix me?" he croaked, still wrestling with hope and disbelief. She simply nodded.

"It will take time," she warned him. "It isn't going to be easy or simple. But my hope is, when we are finished, the only one who will control your mind is you." For the first time in a long time, he let the hope inside him win. Throwing the covers back, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"When can we get started?" he asked eagerly, trying to ignore the dizziness that suddenly made the room spin around him. Steve was already moving to press him back into the bed. The woman smiled and shook her head slightly, her gloved hands resting on the foot of the bed.

"You just woke up. Why don't you get some rest and some warm food?" she suggested. "We can start tomorrow." With a nod, she turned and left the room. Bucky blinked after her.

"We trust her, right?" he said weakly to Steve, lying back in the bed and waiting for everything to stop spinning. Steve gripped his shoulder.

"She hasn't given me reason not to, yet," he said. Bucky nodded and closed his eyes. "You might also want to add a shower to that list of suggestions," Steve added playfully. Bucky opened one eye and glanced at him.

"Like you'd smell better after getting thawed out," he grumbled. Steve chuckled and settled back in his chair.


	3. Beginnings

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Marvel or Captain America other than copies of the movies. Original character is original.**

**Feedback is appreciated!**

* * *

**Beginnings**

Bucky walked out onto the private balcony connected to his room, a towel wrapped around his waist, and took a deep breath. His hair was still damp from the shower, his face stinging slightly from his fresh shave. The view was breathtaking, with trees studding the surrounding mountains. The warm breeze carried with it the heady scent of living things. He breathed in this rare moment of peace, filing it away to remember when the world inevitably went to hell. After a day of rest, some good food, a shower and a shave, he almost felt like a new man. A not insignificant factor was his newfound hope that perhaps, someday soon, he might have all of his memories and some semblance of his life back again. Setting the towel aside, he eyed the clothes he had laid out on the bed, considering the logistics of how he might get them on with only his right arm. With a sigh, he picked up his shirt.

* * *

Half an hour later, Bucky was making his way down the hall to the room he and Dr. Taylor were going to be using for their sessions. The room was sparsely appointed, with an overstuffed couch, a comfortable-looking chair and a small table. One wall was floor to ceiling shelves, about half full of books. Dr. Taylor was perched on a rolling stool, focused on a small rectangular something in her hands. As he stepped into the room, she set it down, stood and gestured towards the couch and chair.

"Come in, Mr. Barnes. Make yourself comfortable," she said. He hadn't noticed before how soothing and reassuring her voice was. He seated himself on the couch and looked up at her with a lopsided smile.

"If you're going to be poking around in my head, isn't Mr. Barnes a little formal?" he asked dryly. She smiled at him.

"What would you prefer?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Most of my friends call me Bucky," he quipped, then looked down at the floor. Steve called him Bucky. He didn't really have other friends to speak of.

"Okay, Bucky," she said. "This morning is going to be more of an assessment. I'm going to see what exactly is going on in your head and how I can best help you. Then we can come up with a plan. Okay?" He nodded. She gestured to the couch. "If you'd lay down, I think that would work best for now." He obeyed, glancing over at her as she wheeled her stool around to the arm of the couch, where his head rested. Slowly, she removed her gloves. "Remember, if you want to stop at any time, just let me know." Softly, she brushed the hair away from his temples and placed her fingertips gently along his hairline. He heard her take a deep breath. "Close your eyes and try to clear your mind," she instructed, her voice barely above a whisper. "It can help to focus on your breathing." Bucky closed his eyes, but rather than his breathing, his attention kept being drawn back to her soft hands pressed against his face. It had been a long, long time since anyone touched him with anything even remotely resembling tenderness, and the feel of her skin against his was a welcome distraction from the tension that had become his nearly constant companion. Her fingertips were warm, and growing warmer, and suddenly he felt as if his whole brain was suffused in warmth.

Abruptly, images started flickering before his mind's eye, fragments of memories flashing by in rapid succession. Some were recent, some buried further in the past. Suddenly, his chest exploded with the myriad emotions associated with the memories: fear, helplessness, rage, guilt, despair. He sucked his breath in almost involuntarily and sat up, forgetting that there was someone else there. He brought his hand to his face and realized vaguely that he was shaking and his cheeks were wet. A comforting hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned abruptly, startled. Dr. Taylor crouched down beside him, compassion on her face and echoes of his emotional onslaught in her eyes. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, his voice rough. She sat on the couch next to him.

"Memory cascade," she said softly. "A small one. A lot of yours are still trapped, and it will take some work to free them, but I think it's possible." Bucky nodded slowly.

"That was… intense," he said, feeling as if he was understating it. She nodded in agreement.

"It definitely can be. That's why it takes time, too. You'll need some time to reprocess. So we can be done for today." He glanced over at her.

"So then, once I have all of my memories back, then… the Winter Soldier will be gone, and they can't control me anymore?" Dr. Taylor frowned and shook her head, and his heart sank.

"That's an altogether different animal." She hesitated. "You're probably not going to like this idea, but… in order to figure out how to reverse that, I'm going to need to trigger you." He stiffened and opened his mouth to protest, and she held her hands up. "Hear me out. I know it's an unpleasant proposition for you, to say the least. But I can't know for sure what they did to you or how they did it unless I can observe it. You can't defuse a bomb without knowing how it's put together, right?" Bucky was silent, mulling it over. She stood and seated herself in the chair, facing him. "As always, it's up to you. We'll only try it if and when you want to. If you like, we can have other people here to make sure nothing goes wrong."

"How is that going to work, though?" he asked. "Say I let you trigger the Winter Soldier and take control of my mind. What then?"

"Well, I don't have any missions for you," she pointed out. "So I'll just deactivate you." Bucky frowned.

"Deactivate me?" he repeated blankly. She nodded.

"It's not terribly difficult. I am slightly more adept at cognitive recalibrations than your average person. You'd just take a nap, and then be yourself again when you woke up." Bucky frowned and took a breath. She shook her head and held her hand up again. "You don't need to decide now. Just think about it and let me know, okay?" He stared at her hard for a moment, then stood up with a nod.

"Okay. I'll let you know." He stood there awkwardly for a moment, as if searching for something to say. "Thank you," he finally managed, then left the room, kicking himself for such a weak parting line.

* * *

Nyssa watched him go, then slowly gathered her laptop and made her way back to the privacy of her own room. Stepping out onto her balcony, she lit a cigarette with shaking hands. She leaned against the wall and slowly slid down until she was sitting cross-legged. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she finally let the silent tears roll down her face as she stared out over the trees.

A chiming coming from the laptop on the table called her attention back to the present. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her face and sat down to answer the request for video conference, taking another drag from the cigarette. She was surprised to see someone calling from the office at this time of day. When she answered, it was her Chief Security Officer, Alana.

"Nys, I just wanted to – wait a minute, I thought you quit smoking." Nyssa made a face at the screen. While technically she was the other woman's boss, they had known each other for years, and it was not unusual for her maternal side to come out where Nyssa was concerned.

"I did. One in six months isn't going to kill me," she said defensively. Alana folded her arms over her chest and looked at her appraisingly. Nyssa was suddenly very aware of her red eyes and tear-streaked face, but set her jaw stubbornly.

"I recognize that look. You're working, aren't you? Dammit, Nyssa, you are supposed to be on vacation!" Nyssa half-smiled and shrugged.

"It's a working vacation." Alana sighed.

"I should have known you couldn't just take time off to relax." She scowled at her boss. Nyssa raised her eyebrows.

"'Lana, it's five in the morning there. You didn't call me this early just to make sure I am relaxing enough." Alana sighed.

"Right. We had an incident at one of the apartment buildings last night." Nyssa's eyes widened.

"Which one? What happened? Was anyone hurt?"

"Sunrise, in Brooklyn. Just one woman, Naomi. You know how it goes. Her abuser found out where she was, broke in to try to get her back. When she didn't want to, he got violent. She's at Mount Sinai but they expect her to make a full recovery. He was arrested and is being held on assault charges." Nyssa pulled her legs up under her and sighed.

"Kids?"

"Two little boys. She didn't have family listed but she had a signed agreement with one of the other families in the building, so that's where they're staying for now."

"Okay. Make sure a crisis counselor stops by there today. Is it Renee that's assigned to that address?"

"I'll check. We'll get someone out there this afternoon."

"Send Naomi flowers, too. Get legal support involved in helping her file an order for protection if she hasn't already. Also, have Roxanne reach out to the guy's lawyer and the judge taking the case. See if they'll agree to a reduced sentence in exchange for him completing a few of our classes." Alana frowned.

"Classes, huh? That'll sure teach him." Alana was fiercely protective of the women in their program, and didn't always agree with Nyssa's methods, though she never disobeyed them. Nyssa exhaled some smoke with a twisted half-smile.

"That is the hope, yes. If they agree, make sure he gets enrolled in Anger Management, Nonviolent Communication, and either individual therapy or the Men's support group. Maybe both."

"Ah, yes, our "How to Not be an Asshole" curriculum. Fair enough." Nyssa chuckled.

"You should know by now there is generally a method to my madness. What's the status on the security upgrades scheduled for that building?"

"The key fobs and electronic door locks are in place, cameras work. The new security doors are coming in next week. This guy came in a fire escape, though."

"Okay, so… we need extra cameras on the outside and in the hallways. There's too many blind spots. Hire a second security detail for overnight."

"I'm not sure that's in the budget," Alana said hesitantly.

"Sure it is," Nyssa said breezily. "Just take it out of the CEO's salary." Alana gave her a hard look.

"You can't take everything out of your salary. If you're not careful, you're going to end up running the organization for free." Nyssa looked unrepentant.

"It's important that they all have a place to feel safe." Alana raised an eyebrow, and she sighed. "Have Ben run the numbers. I'm sure he can find some room for it somewhere. Anything else new? What's the status of that contract with the VA Leslie was working on?" Alana's face brightened.

"Oh, that was approved yesterday, that's right! Nys, you're a genius. I'll contact them to see if there are any likely candidates and get a posting up."

"Screen them carefully, though. The fit needs to be right. We don't want anyone retraumatized," she said. Alana nodded.

"I know. Kinda wish you were here for that. You always seem to find the best people for the job." Nyssa shrugged.

"By that same logic, the people I hired to hire other people should be able to handle it, no? Speaking of which, is there a reason you didn't go to Cathy with this?" Catherine Windmere was the COO and the person Nyssa had left in charge in her absence. Alana looked slightly guilty.

"I'm going to call her next. I felt like this situation needed your touch." Nyssa shook her head at her Chief of Security.

"Cathy is more than competent. In the future, unless it is something that directly concerns me, she gets to hear about it first. At least until I get back home." Alana sighed and nodded.

"Yes, you're right. You should go enjoy your vacation. You said it was tropical, right? Go lay on the beach, relax, enjoy the warm weather, eat some good food!"

"Yes, mom," Nyssa said cheekily.

"Hush, child. I'm not that old yet," Alana responded. "Enjoy paradise. Get laid if you can." Nyssa snorted.

"That's definitely not something my mother would have said. Thanks for the update, 'Lana." Alana winked at her, then signed off. As the screen went dark, the smile faded from Nyssa's face. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and let her head fall forward. For five breaths, she let the feelings of the day wash through her. Then she took one more shaky breath, grabbed her day pack off the bed and headed out the door.

* * *

Bucky's footsteps echoed as he wandered through the grand hallways of Wakanda's palace. He caught a few furtive looks in his direction, but otherwise they left him alone. He tried not to show how awestruck he was by the grandeur of the palace, but couldn't help the wide-eyed amazement as he passed by the throne room. Wakanda's distinctive black throne sat on a raised dais, in a hall several stories tall. Aside from a pair of female guards clad in red and gold, the room appeared empty, so Bucky continued on his way. A few doors down the same hallway, another pair of guards stood at attention. Both were female, and almost a head taller than Bucky. He kept his distance and was about to continue down the hallway when he heard Steve's voice coming from behind the door the women were guarding. He stopped short, and turned, taking a step towards the door. Both women put their hands on their weapons, and one of them barked something at him in a language he didn't understand but didn't need to. Putting his hand up, palm outward, he took a couple steps back.

"It's okay, I can wait." He backed all the way up and leaned against the wall. A few moments later, the door opened and Steve poked his head out. His face brightened when he saw Bucky, and he stepped into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Hey, I thought I heard you out here," he said.

"I'm not trying to interrupt anything," Bucky said softly. Steve shook his head and waved the idea away.

"You're not interrupting. We were almost done anyway." He put his hand on Bucky's shoulder, and they started walking down the hall together.

"Are you… working for him now?" Bucky asked. Steve aimed his half-smile at the floor.

"He's a good man, Buck. I trust his judgement." He looked over at his friend. "How are you feeling? How did your first session go?" Bucky stared down at their feet as they walked.

"Not what I expected," he admitted. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't really known what to expect. His previous "treatments," – indeed, much of his life for the past 70 years – had involved agony and torment as they slowly stripped his will and identity away from him and turned him into a death-dealing puppet. Part of him had half-expected the reversal process to be just as painful. He touched his temple where she had pressed her fingers, the warmth of her touch still lingering in his memory. "Not terrible."

"Do you think it will work?" Steve asked eagerly. Bucky shrugged.

"I hope so." Steve's question reminded him why he had gone looking for his friend in the first place. "Speaking of which, I have a favor to ask you…"

* * *

The next morning, the small study was significantly more crowded. Steve and Sam sat on the couch, while T'Challa leaned casually against the wall. Bucky sat in the chair, his face blank as he contemplated the planned events of the day. His clenched fist on the arm of the chair betrayed his inner turmoil. He had sworn, after he was free of them, that he would never allow anyone… but here he was, agreeing to surrender to his programming once more, with a person he had only just met. He wasn't sure if agreeing to it made it better or worse.

"…sound good, Buck?" Steve's question interrupted his thoughts, and Bucky glanced up at his friend, his expression making it clear that he hadn't heard anything Steve had said. "I was just saying we should grab lunch after this. There's a place not far from the palace I want to show you. Reminds me of the diner on 12th and K we used to go to." Bucky nodded absently.

"Sounds good." He had no memory of the place Steve referred to, but eating a meal in a friend's company was something he hadn't enjoyed in a long, long time. "Unless something goes wrong here."

"No, no," T'Challa said from where he was propping up the wall. "I have appointments this afternoon. You are not allowed to go on a rampage today." His tone was not unkind. With a half-smile, Bucky ducked his head in a seated bow.

"Yes, your highness," he replied, not without a touch of sarcasm. The door to the study opened, and Dr. Taylor stepped in, looking somewhat apprehensive as she glanced around at the men crowded into the room.

"Huh. Didn't realize this was going to be a party," she said dryly.

"I thought it was better to be safe than sorry," Bucky replied. "Is it okay with you?" She nodded.

"Whatever you're comfortable with." She inclined her head towards T'Challa. "Your highness."

"I like to know what is going on in my kingdom," he said in reply to her unasked question.

"Of course," she replied. Crossing the room, she removed her gloves and laid them carefully on the little table next to the couch. Bucky eyed her nervously as she stepped behind his chair and out of his line of sight. He closed his eyes as he felt her fingertips settle on his head.

"желание," she began, and he felt the gut-wrenchingly familiar process start in his head. "ржaвый. Семнадцать …"

Steve's stomach dropped as he watched his friend. The tension was visible in the set of his shoulders and jaw, his eyebrows knitted together fiercely, chest heaving rapidly, his hand clenched on the arm of the chair. Steve didn't recognize the words Dr. Taylor was saying, but it was obvious they were having an effect on Bucky. As she spoke the last one, then removed her hands, the tension left him, and he opened his eyes. He stared straight ahead, and the familiar light – the light that had only just begun to return to his eyes – was gone. He looked suspiciously at the people surrounding him, but there was no recognition there. Bucky was gone. Nyssa spoke to him in Russian again, and he responded in kind but did not look at her. She touched the side of his face, and he looked towards her in confusion, his brow furrowed.

"At ease, soldier," she whispered, and Bucky's eyes suddenly rolled back into his head, slumping down in the chair. She sighed. She glanced around the room. "Well, that's it, folks. Show's over."

"That was a little anticlimactic," Sam observed. Steve stood up.

"Well?" he asked. "Did you figure out if you can undo what they did to him?" Nyssa met his gaze levelly.

"I can de-program him, yes. And likely help him recover whatever memories he hasn't already. If I could erase the trauma, too, I would. That is unfortunately beyond my skill. But you will have your friend back."


	4. Breaking Down Walls

Bucky awakened to find himself back in his room. His head throbbed, but otherwise if he was hurt, he couldn't tell. Steve sat in a chair near the foot of the bed. Bucky sighed.

"What did I do?" he asked warily. He didn't remember anything after the trigger words. Steve shook his head.

"Nothing, this time," he said reassuringly. "I kinda wish she'd been around last time. That could have saved us a lot of trouble."

"I'm sure it would have," Bucky said woodenly. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Didn't you say something about grabbing lunch? I didn't miss that, did I?" He glanced at the clock on the wall, which showed it was barely past noon. Steve grinned.

"No, you didn't miss it." Standing up, he held his hand out towards Bucky. "You'll want to put this on, first." Bucky frowned, reaching for what he was holding. Steve gave him a small necklace that looked like a panther claw on a thin chain. Bucky glanced at his friend and noticed that Steve wore an identical one. "Wakanda has been in isolation until recently, and most of the people here had never seen outsiders before we came. They aren't exactly trusting of us. There were a few… unpleasant incidents when we first got here. This marks you as being under T'Challa's protection. It's helped. Though I suspect it also lets them know to keep a closer eye on us. There are certain places outsiders aren't allowed to go." Bucky put the pendant on, standing up. Steve grinned and slung his arm around Bucky's shoulders. "Let's go."

* * *

He followed Steve off the palace grounds and into the city. It wasn't far. Bucky was acutely aware of the curious eyes on them as they walked down the street, obviously foreign. He drew more stares than Steve did. He supposed they had gotten used to the tall, muscular blonde man over the past year or so, but most of them had never seen him before. Except for maybe in the news. He ducked his head and focused on his feet, stepping over the cobblestones in Steve's wake, his friend's silent shadow.

The "diner" Steve had referred to was not much more than a street stand with seating, but the smell of cooking meat made his stomach growl. Steve ordered for him – he still was getting a handle on the language, so the menu might as well have been in hieroglyphics. They both settled back in their chairs as Bucky scanned the surrounding area for exit routes, possible weapons, anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Of course, he hadn't really gotten to know this place enough to see what was ordinary in the first place. The other people around glanced at him, possibly slightly irritated, definitely somewhat suspicious, but he wasn't sure they were a threat. He glanced at Steve, who seemed very much at ease, and was watching him with a somber expression.

Once upon a time, several lifetimes ago, Bucky Barnes would have been chatting with the other customers, with the wait staff – possibly flirting, if she seemed receptive– but today he just stared uncomfortably at the table, intensely aware of the empty sleeve on his left side. He realized after a moment that Steve was talking, but he hadn't caught any of it, wrapped up instead in his own thoughts and rising paranoia.

" - talking with the king about getting you a replacement arm," Steve was saying. Staring down at the table, Bucky started shaking his head before Steve even finished the sentence. "Buck, it doesn't have to be like the last one," Steve said in protest. "You haven't seen all the technology they have here. They can do really amazing things. Whatever you want, whatever you can think of, probably some things you can't even imagine."

"It's not about that," he replied softly, glancing around and wondering who was listening in. "Until I can be sure I can trust my mind again, I think this is safer." He glanced down at the empty space where his arm would have been. "Maybe after… I mean, if it works…" Steve shrugged.

"She seemed pretty confident she could help," Steve said. "She says she has a plan and everything." Bucky glanced over at him as a large platter of food was set down in the middle of their table.

"Is it a good plan, or is it a crashing a plane into the Arctic Circle kind of plan?" he asked dryly. Steve grinned sheepishly.

"No, I don't think it's anywhere near that level of stupid," he replied, tucking into the food. "Though, in my defense, I panicked." Bucky managed a half-smile before taking a bite and realizing how hungry he was. He wasn't certain what the dish was, but between the unfamiliar yet flavorful seasonings and how ravenous he was, it was delicious.

* * *

Nyssa was just finishing her own lunch alone in her room when there was a knock at her door. She opened the door to see Bucky looking both eager and apprehensive.

"Steve… said you had a plan," he said hesitantly. "Maybe we could start on that this afternoon?" She smiled at him. She definitely could understand his impatience. After so many years at the mercy of another's bidding, it was no wonder he was eager to be rid of their ability to control him. And since he didn't trust himself until it was done, he had nothing to do during the day aside from ruminate on his progress – or lack thereof. A few minutes later, they were on their way to the study, Nyssa already taking off her gloves in preparation. Halfway there, they met T'Challa walking with an older, greying man.

"Your highness," Nyssa greeted him. T'Challa smiled at her.

"Good to see you, Doctor. This is Lord Sturdy, here on behalf of Count Nefaria." Lord Sturdy extended his hand towards Nyssa, who hesitated to take it in her ungloved hand but did not want to offend T'Challa's guest. Lord Sturdy grasped her hand and raised it to his lips. She gasped softly as the skin to skin contact gave her a glimpse of the inside of his mind.

"A pleasure,  _Signora_ ," he purred. "So lovely to meet a great beauty like yourself." His words were in stark contrast to the violent images she glimpsed in his head: shining metal bombs and guns, explosions as people ran screaming, more people bowing down before a tall man in 18th century style clothing – Count Nefaria. A hunger for power and powers fairly radiated from him. Lord Sturdy glanced back up at her expectantly.

"Very… very nice to meet you," she stammered. He smiled, taking her flustered reaction as attraction. She did not contradict him, but inwardly scoffed at his conceit. Beside her and slightly ahead, Bucky had automatically fallen into bodyguard position, his expression blank even though she could feel his confusion under the surface.

"This is Dr. Nyssa Taylor," the king announced. "She is also a guest of Wakanda." Nyssa glanced at him quickly, suddenly realizing his intentions. The smile she gave Lord Sturdy was more for the king's benefit than his own.

"Will you be joining us for the reception later, Dr. Taylor?" Lord Sturdy asked eagerly. T'Challa's amused expression asked her the same question. She blinked at both, then flashed them a dazzling smile.

"I'll have to check my schedule," she said cheerfully. With a small curtsey, she bid them farewell and continued down the hallway, a somewhat confused Bucky trailing behind her. They ducked into the study after T'Challa and Lord Sturdy vanished down the hall.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky asked. Nyssa sighed, trying to rein in her annoyance.

"An audition for a job that I don't want," she muttered. She looked down at the floor and shuddered slightly. "What a vile man."

"The king?" Bucky asked skeptically. She shook her head.

"No, Lord Scary back there. He says trade negotiations, but he means to get what he wants by any means necessary. I wouldn't want him as an enemy or an ally."

"I'm not sure there are a lot of other options," Bucky pointed out dryly. "How do you know all this?" She looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

"A touch is all it takes," she said softly. "To learn someone's secrets, make them remember, make them forget, make them see what I want them to. I try very hard not to do most of that. I actually put a lot of effort into staying out of other people's minds. With contact, it's more intense, and I was caught off guard." Setting her gloves on the back of the chair, she took a moment to take a few breaths and find her center again.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked. She turned to see him looking at her with concern in his eyes. She smiled reassuringly at him.

"I'm fine. Some personalities are a little harder to shake than others." She gestured to the couch. "We can start whenever you're ready." It didn't take too long for him to get comfortable on the couch, or for her to settle in behind his head, her now-familiar touch at his temples. "We're going to work through each of the trigger words, one at a time," she explained softly. "So I'll have to use them, but it shouldn't take your will this time. Are you ready?" He took a deep breath, then nodded. "желание," she whispered. He felt the familiar click in his head, and the helpless feeling of knowing what was to come.

He suddenly found himself standing in a field, Dr. Taylor beside him and a tall brick wall before them. Halfway up the wall, Hydra's familiar sigil glared down at them. He frowned as he looked around.

"Where the hell are we?" he asked.

"In your head," she answered simply. "Or, more precisely, a representation of what's in your head." She gestured to the wall. "The words put these walls up, and when the last one goes up, Bucky – your will, your memories, everything that makes you, you – is trapped behind them." He stared up at the tall barrier.

"So what are you going to do with it?" he asked.

"I'm not going to do anything." Bucky's head whipped around and he leveled a hard stare at her. She grinned and kicked at the bricks. " **You're** going to tear it down." He frowned.

"And how do I do that?" he asked, looking at the tall, foreboding brick wall, then down at his one remaining arm. Dr. Taylor shrugged.

"However you want. This is your mind, Bucky. You can do whatever you want here. Blow it up, smash it to smithereens, knock it down brick by brick. If you want to get creative, turn it into ice cream and eat it. The method doesn't matter." She turned back towards him and looked him over contemplatively. "You'll probably want your other arm back." He glanced down reflexively, then startled and stared at his flesh-and-blood left hand. He turned it over, staring at the back and then the palm again, and clenched it into a fist. He knew it wasn't real, but it seemed as strong and solid as his other hand. A heavy weight pulled down his right arm, and he raised it to find a massive sledgehammer. Taking a deep breath, he paced slowly back and forth, scanning the bricks. He pondered everything this wall represented, everything that had been taken from him, and he felt the anger begin to well up inside him. It was familiar, but he was accustomed to choking it down, pushing it back, keeping it in check, never more than a low simmer below the surface. For the first time, he stopped fighting against it, and let the rage boil over. With a scream, he swung the sledgehammer with all of his considerable strength, sending pieces of brick flying.

_…all the years of torture, turning his waking moments into a blur of one pain memory after another…_

He hefted the hammer again and swung it with a yell. Bricks turned to powder, revealing a hole.

_…ripping his identity and his will away, forcing him to do their bidding…_

The hammer smashed through more brick, expanding the hole.

_…keeping him frozen and sleeping while the years passed, his friends and family died, thinking that he was already gone…_

The sky darkened around them, thunder rumbling as the anger and anguish continued to rise. He barely noticed as he continued to break down the wall with enraged swings of his hammer.

_…forcing him to harm, slaughter, destroy people he didn't know, had no wish to hurt…_

Little by little, the wall crumbled and fell. He finally stopped, out of breath and drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he surveyed his handiwork. Where the wall had once stood, only chunks of brick and red dust remained. Thunder rumbled overhead, and it started to rain.

"That seemed… cathartic." He turned and squinted at Dr. Taylor through the downpour. "Brace yourself. With the wall down, there's a good chance of another cascade…" No sooner had she mentioned it when the landscape around them flickered and vanished, suddenly replaced by images moving by them, scenes from Bucky's memory playing out all at once. Gasping, he fell to his knees as he was bombarded on all sides with his past, alternating waves of rage, despair, fear, hope, elation; a roller coaster of the entire range of human emotion washing over him ceaselessly. He was lifted up to the highest highs before being dropped again to the darkness of rage and despair. He felt like he was drowning. Soft, warm hands cupped his face, and he blinked his eyes open to see Dr. Taylor's patient expression. "Focus on me, Bucky," she said softly. He tried, but her face kept changing. He watched a parade of familiar faces before him. He recognized former lovers, enemies, faces of those he had killed, even his mother at one point. Then it became Dr. Taylor again. He tried to wake up, but seemed trapped in this nightmare.

"It will pass, it will pass," she said soothingly. "I don't want to wake you before your mind is ready. This is unpleasant but it will help the memories reintegrate. Just try to keep in mind that none of it is really happening."

"It's not happening now. It did before," he said grimly. Taking a deep breath, he surrendered to the emotional assault. It was a skill he had acquired during the marathon torture sessions Hydra had subjected him to. Relaxing into whatever was happening to him made it more endurable, if not any less horrific or painful. The waves of emotion still rolled over him, but then, without him pushing against them, they subsided before giving way to the next wave.

Then, it stopped. As suddenly as the onslaught began, it faded into nothingness. He jerked awake, opening his eyes to see that he was still lying on the couch in the study. He was drenched in sweat, and as exhausted as if he'd just completed a particularly taxing mission. More than the physical fatigue, though, was the emotional. In the aftermath of the cascade, all he felt was numb and completely drained. Even sitting up seemed an almost insurmountable task. He glanced over at Dr. Taylor, who had draped herself into the chair across from him. Judging by her slumped posture, she seemed as exhausted as he was.

"Are they all going to be like that?" he asked quietly. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her jaw working ruminatively.

"Possibly," she finally said. He raised his eyebrows at her, hearing in her voice that there was something she wasn't telling him. She sighed. "There's a possibility that it will get more intense as we go deeper." He closed his eyes.

"I was afraid you might say that," he murmured.

"We can stop any time," she reminded him. He shook his head, eyes still closed.

"Not on your life," he replied, one corner of his mouth turning up into a crooked smile. He opened his eyes and, with great effort, stood up. Steadying himself, he reached his hand to Dr. Taylor to assist her as well. She looked at him in surprise, then took his offered hand in her gloved one. Together, they walked out into the corridor.

"I recommend taking it easy the rest of the day," she instructed him. "Take a nap. Take a bubble bath. Try to relax." He nodded. Even if he'd been inclined to argue with her, he didn't have the energy for it.

"A… bubble bath?" he repeated after a moment. She chuckled softly.

"Yes. I suppose that isn't something you did often in Siberia," she said, half-teasingly. "Maybe just go rest, I'll explain bubble baths another time."

* * *

Nyssa was seated cross-legged on her balcony a few minutes later, just finishing her cigarette, when there came a knock at her door. She got up with a sigh and opened it to see one of the Dora Milaje standing at attention.

"Follow me," she commanded. Nyssa sighed, but obediently stepped out of her room and followed her to the map room near the grand throne room. T'Challa was waiting for her there, standing by the three-dimensional map display in the center of the room. On the opposite side, Steve and Sam watched her speculatively as she crossed the room to the table. Members of the Dora Milaje stood around the perimeter of the room.

"Your highness?" Nyssa bowed slightly, but did not drop her eyes from his. He smiled warmly at her.

"Dr. Taylor, I wanted to get your impression of my guest, the one you met earlier today," he said. She met his gaze unwaveringly.

"T'Challa, I have utmost respect for you as king, and you are a good man. But let me make one thing very clear: I don't get involved in politics." T'Challa raised an eyebrow at her.

"That is not what I asked, is it?" he asked mildly. Nyssa gave him a tight smile.

"Not yet, no. Because you are an honorable man, I will give you this. He is not to be trusted. He's not actually even a lord. They sent him to find out the strength of your country, and to discover your secrets. They are interested in the Vibranium, but that is partially a front. He wants not only your technology but to discover how you came by your… enhanced abilities. Count Nefaria wishes to recreate them for himself." T'Challa nodded gravely.

"I had my suspicions," he agreed. "He did ask a lot of questions."

"There's more, your highness," she continued, mentally sifting through all of her impressions from the brief meeting. "If you do not settle on a trade agreement, they may attempt to take the vibranium by force. If that is successful, they may come for the source of your power as well." He appeared surprised by this revelation.

"A mere count would take on all of Wakanda?" he scoffed. "It would be a short war." She shook her head.

"Not war. He wouldn't attack you outright," she said. "The man he represents has more experience with covert operations, and ties to the Maggia. It's more likely they would attempt to infiltrate, divert or destroy shipments, send spies to uncover secrets, that sort of thing." Steve and Sam glanced at each other. T'Challa raised his eyebrows.

"You determined all this from a simple kiss on the hand?" he asked dryly. Nyssa gave a little curtsey with a half-smile.

"I'm very efficient," she returned. T'Challa smiled broadly.

"Indeed. I know you said you do not like politics, but I am still tempted to offer you an advisor position. You could sit in on meetings with envoys and diplomats, tell me what their intentions really are." She shook her head at him.

"It's not so much that I don't like politics. More that I actively avoid it. I am flattered by the offer, your highness, but I'm afraid I must definitely decline."

"Then you will not be joining us for the reception later tonight, I presume?" There was humor in T'Challa's expression. "What a shame. No matter. Lord, ah, Mr. Sturdy may find himself… uninvited." He nodded, and three of the Dora Milaje filed out of the throne room. Nyssa bowed deeply.

"A wise decision, your majesty," Nyssa replied. T'Challa chuckled.

"You have already done Wakanda a favor," he acknowledged. "I will not ask it of you again. Thank you, Dr. Taylor." She bowed once more, then with relief retreated down the hall to her room.

* * *

Bucky had contemplated trying out the tub when he got back to his room, but after a moment's pondering decided it felt like too much effort and collapsed into bed instead. Unfortunately, the deep and restful slumber his body ached for would not come, and he found himself instead caught up in restless, fitful sleep beset by vivid nightmares. His new memories warred with old ones, filling in details he had previously forgotten, adding new insights and perspectives, reviving faded memories and bringing them back in bloody detail. After awhile of tossing and turning, he gave up and got up, instead sitting down at his table with his notebook. When he had first escaped Hydra, and his lost memories had slowly begun to trickle back, he had taken to recording them in a notebook in case he ever forgot them again. That notebook had expanded into an entire collection, sorted by type of memory and chronology. Those old notebooks were still locked up in a government facility in Germany, and he tried not to think about who might have seen them or read them. Now he started again. Maybe there was some significance now, to starting anew with a book full of blank pages to record his memories.

He picked up a pen and began to write, committing to the page the memories that haunted him and kept replaying in his mind. He scarcely noticed the passage of time, but when he put down the pen and rubbed his aching eyes, it was growing dark outside. With a sigh, he lay back down. Writing it all down did not eliminate the nightmares completely, but it did allow him to at least get some much-needed rest.


	5. Interesting Times

**Interesting Times**

Nyssa was not having a much easier night, despite her exhaustion. The kind of intensive work she was doing with Bucky didn't allow her to keep herself as heavily shielded as she typically did, and the emotional bleed-through was intense. She kept finding that his memories crept into her dreams at night, some of them triggering echoes from her own past and rippling into her nightmares. After several restless hours, she rose as the sky began to lighten on the horizon. It was partially her own fault, really, for letting her routine fall by the wayside. Evidently, she was going to have to change that. As the sun began to paint the sky in streaks of gold and pink, she seated herself on the balcony and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she let her mental shields drop. The energy of all the life around her flooded into her consciousness, the hum of the city transmuting into the thrum of hopes and griefs, love and anger; people waking up with eagerness to face the day or dread of what another day might bring. She let it all flow through her, reaching to the furthest limits of what she could sense. She let the distinct edges of her ego blur and soften, then disappear as she allowed the city to just flow through her. She was no longer a disparate entity sitting on a balcony, but became the city itself, the jungle beyond, and all the living things in it. In the space between her breaths, she relaxed into the ebb and flow of the universe. On the exhale, she allowed her circle of awareness to contract, collapsing to just the buildings immediately adjacent, then just the palace, then just her room, then back once more to the confines of her skin. With one more breath, she focused even smaller, to the breath in her lungs and the beating of her heart. She opened her eyes and rose to her feet. While the meditation helped with her focus and her abilities, it always left her feeling in need of grounding. Though she had experimented with many disciplines, she had found that yoga seemed to help anchor herself back in her body the best. Bending forward, she wrapped her arms around her legs and bent all the way forward.

Finished with her morning exercise and meditation, she was pouring her second cup of coffee when someone knocked on the door. She answered it to find Bucky standing on the other side of it. He gave her a hesitant smile, his eyes widening slightly at her robe and tousled hair.

"Have you had breakfast already?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Just coffee," she replied, raising her mug.

"We're all having breakfast in the commons," he informed her. "I realized I haven't seen you around much outside of our sessions, but I wanted you to know you're welcome to join us." She raised her eyebrows at the invitation. He shrugged sheepishly. "I know what it's like to feel isolated." She considered the offer for a moment.

"Okay," she decided. "Just give me a minute."

He waited outside her room and reflected for a moment with surprise at the sudden flutter of butterflies somewhere in the vicinity of his lower ribs. Once upon a time, Bucky Barnes had a reputation with the ladies and hardly ever struck out. It was Steve who always ended up tongue tied around the fairer sex. But that was several lifetimes ago, and he hadn't done any dating, dancing or even flirting in literally decades. He hadn't expected to have such a visceral reaction to the sight of Nyssa. Usually she was very professional, and despite the intimate nature of her work with him, he hadn't really thought of her in any other way. But something about seeing her so soft and vulnerable had stirred something… protective in him.

His thoughts were interrupted by her door opening once more. Even though he had been expecting it, he was a little disappointed to see her hair pulled back again in her usual style, dressed professionally, including the usual grey gloves. She smiled at him and gestured down the hallway.

"Shall we?"

* * *

The east wing of the palace contained several floors, and T'Challa had allowed the fugitive Avengers to more or less take over one of them. The living quarters were arranged around the outer ring, with a large common area at the center. On other levels, the Dora Milaje or palace servants had similar arrangements.

Steve, Sam, Wanda, Clint and Scott were already seated in the common area when Bucky and Nyssa arrived. Conversation abruptly faded as they entered the hall. Bucky immediately crossed to the empty seat beside Steve. Nyssa stood off to the side for a moment, her expression suddenly shy. She approached the table where Wanda was sitting hesitantly.

"Wanda, right?" she asked softly. Wanda glanced up at her, then quickly did a double take.

"Yes," she replied, looking at Nyssa strangely.

"Can I sit here?" Nyssa asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside her. "I'm a big fan of yours." Wanda was still staring, but nodded. Nyssa sat with a smile and set her tray down on the table. Wanda frowned and leaned towards her.

"What are you?" she whispered, then seemed a bit surprised that she'd said it out loud. Nyssa's smile broadened.

"Human, or at least I'm pretty sure. Female. American. Therapist." She tilted her head closer to answer the question Wanda meant to ask, but hadn't. "You can't read me because I'm used to keeping others' thoughts out of my head. It keeps my own thoughts in, too." Wanda's expression brightened.

"So you're like me?" she asked incredulously. Nyssa shrugged.

"I pretty much just work with the mind. And my more powerful work requires physical contact. But similar, yes. In the same way a light rain is similar to a hurricane." she said impishly. The table had gone silent as everyone's attention and curiosity focused on the new person.

"So, wait… you have superpowers, too?" Scott said incredulously. "Are you an Avenger?" She chuckled.

"Goodness, no. In my line of work, if someone's throwing punches at me, something has gone very wrong. I have found that most situations can be resolved without violence. Besides, I hear the retirement plan is pretty terrible." A surprised chuckle rippled around the table.

"You're a pacifist, then?" Sam asked. She shook her head.

"No, I'm a realist. I'm 5'2" in heels. I'm physically outweighed and outmatched by pretty much anyone. I prefer to play to my strengths, and realistically, that doesn't include brawling."

"That seems very sensible," Bucky commented, glancing at Steve, who shot both of them a sardonic look.

"Don't get me wrong, I have a few tricks up my sleeve if I have to fight," she continued. "But I'm not like you guys. We need you guys to keep us safe from the big world-ending baddies out there, no question. I just happen to belong more on the other side of the equation."

"How's that?" Steve asked. Nyssa set her fork down and looked around the table.

"Well, what do you do after the world's been saved? After the last enemy is vanquished, and the dust clears? You mourn the dead, comfort the survivors, take what's left, and rebuild it even better than before. I help – well, my organization helps – people pick up the pieces when their world falls apart, and give them the tools to rebuild. We need people like you to save the world, but we also need people to help build a world worth fighting for." There were a few moments of silence, and then Sam raised an eyebrow at her from his seat on Steve's right.

"Nice speech. How many times have you given that one before?" he asked with a smirk. Steve and Bucky both frowned at him, but Nyssa smiled.

"We are a nonprofit, Sam. Speeches and sales pitches are sometimes part of the deal," she said simply, then shrugged. "Not that it's hard to talk about something I'm passionate about."

"I used to be on that side of things, too," Sam said reflectively, looking at the glass of juice in his hand. "Now I'm back in the sky."

"How is that going, by the way?" Steve asked. "Your trainees, I mean." Sam set his cup down.

"They catch on quick. I mean, the Dora Milaje are impressive to begin with, but then when you add wings, it kind of crosses that line into terrifying…" He shook his head, a glint of pride in his smile. "I'd like to see anyone try to get through them to the king. Plus, the new wings are lighter, faster, more durable, more maneuverable. It's really been an honor to teach them how to use them."

"Sure, and the fact that you get to keep a set for yourself doesn't figure into it, right?" Clint said from his place across from Sam. He was looking slightly green as he clutched the cup of coffee in front of him.

"Well, that's just a bonus," Sam replied.

"How are you doing, Clint?" Steve asked. "You've been awfully quiet this morning." Clint blinked at the rest of them.

"Just trying to get my land legs back," he said. "Oh, and Nat sends her love to everyone." Silence fell as everyone turned their attention to him. He took another slow sip of his coffee, then glanced around to see everyone watching him. "What? I haven't had enough coffee yet."

"Hey, uh-uh," Sam protested. "You don't mention news from home and then just clam up. Spill!" Clint cupped his coffee protectively and lifted his mug, taking a long draught of the hot elixir. Opening his eyes, he peeked over the rim of his mug, swallowed and sighed. He reached into his pocket and threw a handful of envelopes on the table, shoving one towards Scott, several towards Sam, two to Steve and one to Wanda. Steve tucked his away silently, not even glancing at the return addresses. Wanda immediately tore hers open, her expression softening as she began to read. Sam flipped through his, noting who they were from, then set them to the side to be read in private later. Scott chuckled softly and showed the entire table the illustration that his daughter had included in her letter, a nine-year-old's rendition of him as Ant-Man.

"She was able to deliver all of the messages and letters we sent from last time." Clint said. "She's not sure she'll be able to next time because they're watching her even more closely. They've moved on to the next phase of the Accords, and there's talk of everyone having to wear a tracking device so they can be accounted for at all times. She's putting it off as long as possible, but is pretty sure there's a point where she'll have to do it or be locked up." He paused and took a breath. "She's not sure which route she prefers yet."

"Ankle bracelet versus floating underwater prison?" Scott scoffed from the end of the table, next to Clint. "I know which one I'd choose." At the mention of the prison most of them had been unwilling guests of, Wanda went pale, Sam tensed briefly, and Clint took another sip of his coffee, staring at the table in front of him.

"Did she say how Rhodes is doing?" Sam asked quietly.

"No new updates, but I'm sure Tony is still working on that exoskeleton to help him get around. He's recovering. He's… adapting. He'll be okay, Sam. And we know he can still use his suit." Clint drained the rest of his coffee and set the mug down. He still stared at it, gazing distractedly into the bottom as if there was still coffee there. Wanda put a hand on his arm.

"What is it, Clint?" she asked quietly. Clint glanced over at her briefly, then looked down at the table again.

"Erm, Laura's pregnant again," he said softly.

"Wait, what?" Scott frowned over at him. "So that last trip, the one we barely made it out on, you guys - ?"

"That is usually how it happens, yes. I'm sorry, did your parents forget to give you The Talk?" Clint responded, his irritation evident.

"But we were only there for a couple days. That's a pretty small window. Are you sure-" Clint's head swiveled towards him, the last traces of grogginess vanishing from his face as he glared as Scott.

"Guess I just don't miss. What exactly are you implying?" he snarled. Scott held his hands up.

"Nothing, nothing at all. I swear nobody can take a joke around here…"

"Scott, that's enough," Steve cut him off. "Clint, that's great news. Congratulations."

"Yeah, it's great," Clint replied stiffly. "Except she's there… and I'm here." Wanda put a comforting hand on his shoulder as everyone at the table paused, each person dwelling on the things they had left behind. Bucky shifted uncomfortably in his seat, thinking of why they had lost them. He glanced across the table to see Nyssa sitting with her hands in her lap, food forgotten in front of her, staring wide-eyed at the others with tears in her eyes.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked. She glanced at him and managed a half-smile.

"I'm fine. There's just…so much pain at this table," she said softly, then raised her voice slightly to make sure the others could hear her as well. "All of you have sacrificed so much, lost so much. I hope you know, for whatever it's worth, that there are still many who recognize that, and who still see you as heroes." The mood at the table shifted and lightened slightly, and Wanda smiled at her. She smiled back. "Also, if any of you feel like you need to talk to someone… my door is open." She glanced around the table, then stood up with a smile. "Thank you very much for the breakfast invitation, and it was an honor to meet you all. I should probably get going. Bucky, half an hour?" He nodded silently and watched her leave. Steve cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"So, Scott," he said, breaking the silence. "Are you still working on that apprenticeship?" Scott nodded and swallowed his mouthful of food.

"It's crazy, man. Their technology here is so advanced, I might as well have gotten my degree during World War II. No offense," he added hastily, nodding to Steve. "It's just… mind-blowing stuff, every day. Like I'm just starting college again. Right now, we're working on this, like, energy net that's essentially based on quantum theory…."

"Shit, they've got you working on that?" Sam shook his head. "It was my idea, but they told me they'd have actual professionals working on it. I'll have to make sure it goes through extra quality control before I let my girls try it out."

"Your girls?" Steve repeated lightly, raising an eyebrow at Sam, who looked a little sheepish.

"Yeah, well… I've been working with them for a few months now, so I kinda think of them… in a strictly teacher-student sense, you understand…" Sam pointed his finger at Scott. "All I'm saying is, you better be coming up with some quality product." Scott's eyes widened.

"Wait, you came up with the idea for the net? When did you learn quantum theory?" he asked.

"No, I just had the idea for something that could double as a net and a parachute. I was gonna leave the detail stuff to the experts. I just didn't realize that was going to be you," Sam retorted.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Shuri is doing most of the work," Scott said. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, that does help," he replied.

"I know how to make a net," Wanda said teasingly. Sam shook his head at her.

"No, those are force fields. There's a difference. And if I could shrink you down, multiply you, and attach one of you to each pack, I would, but…" Sam trailed off as Scott frowned and chewed his lower lip in contemplation while Wanda raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "Hey, hey. That was a joke, not an official request."

"Wait, is that something you could do?" Steve asked Wanda incredulously. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

"I don't know, I've never tried," she replied. Clint poured himself another cup of coffee, took a sip and sighed. Bucky looked around the table, shook his head and chuckled softly. Steve looked over at him and half-smiled.

"What?"

"Isn't there an old curse that says something about living in interesting times?" he murmured. Steve's smile widened, and he shook his head slightly.

"Yeah, I think we're there, pal."

* * *

"I know you're eager to be rid of all of it, but you'll have to trust me. There's a reason we only do so much each session." Nyssa walked beside Bucky as they both headed back to their rooms. "Be patient. With the process, with yourself. We're already going faster than I would normally recommend. You'll get there." Bucky sighed.

"I guess a few days doesn't make that much difference after so many… decades," he admitted. "It's just hard when it's so close…" Nyssa nodded.

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "Not impossible, though." As they drew closer to their rooms, she caught sight of someone waiting outside her door. "I'll see you again tomorrow."

"For our session, or for breakfast?" he asked. She stopped and smiled at him.

"I'll be at breakfast if I'm feeling up to it," she promised. He nodded and went into his room. She turned her smile to Wanda, who was still waiting patiently outside her door. "Wanda, come on in." The other woman followed her into the room and paused, looking around. Nyssa had insisted on this type of suite for this reason; the comfortable sitting area was separate from the bedroom to give her a space suitable for impromptu therapy sessions. After what happened at breakfast, she was even more certain that it would be needed. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, hot cocoa, water?" Wanda looked surprised to be offered something right away.

"Um, tea sounds nice," she said hesitantly. Nyssa gestured for her to sit down on one of the overstuffed couches as she busied herself at the room's tiny kitchenette. "I just, ah… you said if we needed anyone to talk to, we could come to you."

"I did indeed," Nyssa agreed, and handed her a cup of tea. "And here you are." Wanda took it, staring down at her reflection at the top of it.

"I guess, I don't know, I just…. I feel…. Stuck." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "Which is ironic, considering I can move everything else with my mind. Everyone else seems to have moved on, found something to focus on since we came here, but all I have is refugee status. I started out feeling so sure that what I was doing was right, but then it turned out to be wrong. And then I was an Avenger, and that felt like the right thing, too, but now it feels like that was wrong, and before I would talk to Pietro about things like this, but he's gone and I just miss him so much…." Once she started, it all came tumbling out, the thoughts that had been bubbling just under the surface for so long, the things she could never dare share with her teammates; the anger, the despair, the uncertainty, the grief still wound so tightly around her heart. Closely on the tail of her confession came the tears, and soon Nyssa was sitting next to her on the couch, a box of tissues in one hand as she listened attentively.

* * *

It was nearly two hours later when Wanda had calmed and splashed some cool water on her face. Nyssa walked her to the door, and they opened it to see Clint standing on the other side, hand raised, about to knock.

"Clint," Nyssa greeted him.

"Hi, um…. Got a minute?" he asked.

"For you, I can have five," she replied with a grin. Wanda clasped her hand.

"Thank you again," she said quietly. Nyssa squeezed her hand and smiled.

"Any time. I mean it." Wanda nodded and left. Clint glanced around the hall before ducking into Nyssa's room. She closed the door behind him and turned expectantly.

"Look, I don't need to sit and spill my guts to you," he started bluntly. "All I want is… you know about Loki?" She nodded. "You know he had me under his control for awhile?" She nodded again. "Okay, well… since then, I sometimes have these… really strange dreams. When I can sleep at all, I mean. Do you think… I mean, is there anything that can get them to go away?" Nyssa considered him seriously.

"Most likely, yes. Have a seat." He started to sit, but hesitated.

"You won't tell any of them, right?" he asked, gesturing generally towards the wall. Nyssa smiled reassuringly.

"Not a word."


	6. Green Therapy

Their days began to arrange themselves into a routine. Nyssa usually joined the group for breakfast, and then she and Bucky went to the study for their next session. Afternoons and evenings were spent recovering. After a few days, he was glad for her insistence on only pushing through one barrier each time. Nightmares had been all too common for him since he had finally escaped from Hydra, but with the sudden deluge of refreshed and vivid memories rattling around in his head, it was becoming nearly impossible to get any solid rest at night. It seemed that every time he closed his eyes, he fell into chaotic and terrifying dreams that had him waking in a cold sweat, staring in disbelief at the clock telling him that he'd only been asleep for twenty minutes. Even writing the memories down in his journals brought only a modicum of relief. He was reluctant to mention it to anyone, but Steve had already commented on the dark shadows under his eyes and zombie-like stare more than once.

He was half-disappointed, half-relieved when one of their sessions several days later did not result in a cascade. He sat up on the couch feeling more energized than he had in days. He sat for a moment, holding his breath in anticipation of the deluge of memories and associated emotions, but nothing happened. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Nyssa sat down in the chair, watching him contemplatively.

"So, Bucky… how are you doing?" she asked. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"You're in my head every day, don't you already know?" His tone was harsher than he intended. She gave him a patient look.

"How do you think you're doing?" she rephrased. He took a deep breath and looked down at his hand, clenched in a fist in his lap. He couldn't remember the last time someone had asked him how he was doing and actually wanted to know the answer. He knew Steve cared, but neither one had ever been much for discussing feelings. Both had been masters of pretending things were okay, even back during the war, and in the years – no, decades – since, had only perfected the art. The question was so foreign to him, he had difficulty imagining how he would answer if he were feeling okay, much less describing the roller coaster of intensity the past few days had been.

"I'm surviving," he finally managed. It was a non-answer, but felt more accurate than saying he was fine, at least. She let it pass and didn't press further on that subject.

"Have you been doing anything to relieve stress?" she asked. Bucky met her gaze levelly for the first time since she started asking questions.

"I've been either brainwashed or frozen for the better part of a fucking century," he said bitterly. "What do people even do to "relieve stress" nowadays?" She smiled softly at him, letting the bitterness roll past her and fade. She recognized it was borne of pain and not directed at her.

"Well, I was going to go for a hike," she said simply, opening her hands towards him. "Would you like to come with me?"

* * *

They first stopped by her room, where she vanished for a few minutes, then emerged faster than he'd expected wearing a completely different outfit, complete with hiking shoes and a day pack. She then led him down to the first floor and cut through the kitchen, where T'Challa's staff was already working on the next meal. They greeted her as if they were already familiar with her, and Bucky was surprised when she spoke to them in their own language. One of the cooks pointed to a nearby counter, where food had already been set aside. She smiled in thanks but held up two fingers. They looked from her to Bucky and laughed, then said something that made Nyssa's cheeks turn pink. She shook her head and responded, her speech halting and hesitant compared to theirs, but they did seem to understand her. She loaded the food into her day pack, thanked the staff and they were on their way.

"You've been here a week and you know the language already?" he asked in disbelief as they exited through a back door.

"I knew the language the first day," she corrected him. "It's one of the perks of being able to do what I do."

"Kind of seems like cheating," he commented. She chuckled.

"No. Playing poker in college, that was cheating. This is just communication." He shook his head at her.

* * *

The palace was bordered to the south and east by thick, uncompromising forest. Strange animals and colorful birds called to one another, unseen in the vegetation. The verdant foliage was dotted here and there with colorful flowers. Bucky was somewhat surprised when Nyssa led him this way rather than through the city to the north of the palace. She walked with confidence, as if she knew where she was going, despite the underbrush seeming to close in around them. After a few hundred meters, it thinned out, and they emerged onto a narrow trail, with trees on either side towering above them. In the distance, he could hear the murmur of a river. The air was laden with the scent of tropical flowers. Still, he found himself slightly on edge, scanning the trees and rocks around them for possible ambush sites. Nyssa tapped his hand lightly.

"Stop that," she chided. He frowned at her. She gestured to the forest around them. "We are the only ones here, Bucky. There isn't another person around for miles. You are safe. You can relax." Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, she was watching him approvingly.

"How do you know there's no one else around?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Why do you think I come out here?" she asked, starting down the path again.

"Because it's beautiful?" he guessed, looking wide-eyed at their surroundings. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually gone on a walk, not to get somewhere but just to enjoy the journey. Or the last time he had bothered to notice flowers, or plants. The peace of the greenery around them was already soaking into him, and he could feel his anxiety abating.

"There's that too," she acknowledged. "But mostly it's just a relief to get away from people and their busy minds for awhile."

"What, you can hear everything that everyone thinks?" Bucky quickly thought back over everything he'd been thinking about since they left the palace. "I thought you had to be touching…"

"Touch intensifies it. I get more with physical contact, and it's necessary if I need to, ah, make any modifications. But yes, unless I make the effort to keep it out, I can hear everyone's thoughts. It's kind of like walking into a room and everyone is having a different conversation, but you can hear everyone equally well."

"That sounds… really overwhelming," he observed. She nodded.

"It can be. Most of the time I keep myself pretty well shielded. Not just for my sake, but… most people aren't very happy with the idea of someone listening to their private thoughts. I try to respect people's privacy and personal boundaries."

"Nice of you," Bucky commented, his eyes following a small monkey as it swung across the branches overhead. Nyssa laughed softly.

"Kinda. It's also because I don't really need to know what people are planning for dinner, or why they hate their boss, or what they thought of the woman who just passed them on the street." She reached out and plucked a piece of fruit from the branches of a tree as they passed by. "Out here, though, I don't have to worry about keeping my guard up. There's not so much… cerebral chatter."

"Seems pretty noisy out here to me," Bucky observed, listening to the calls and cries of the wildlife around them.

"It's never completely silent," Nyssa agreed. "But animals are different. They live in the moment. They don't worry or plot or scheme as much." She raised her hand holding the fruit high into the air. One of the monkeys climbing through the trees overhead suddenly leapt down to the lower branches, then onto her outstretched arm, tiny hands reaching for the offered fruit. "Plus, they don't have words to muddle up their communication. They are pure instinct and feeling. And easy to make happy." Bringing her arm closer to her body, she gently stroked the little monkey's head. It made a cheerful chirruping sound. Bucky laughed in surprise and disbelief. She held the tiny simian up closer to him. "Do you want to pet him? He's not feeling threatened, so I don't think he'll bite." Tentatively, Bucky reached out towards the small furry creature and touched its head. Its coat was softer than he expected. He stroked gently down the back of its neck and was rewarded with a cooping noise and its little eyes half-closing. A grin spread across his face. The little monkey continued nibbling at the fruit, then shoved the rest into its mouth, looking back up towards the top of the trees. Nyssa raised her arm up towards the lowest hanging branches, and the monkey leapt up, darting from branch to branch with breathtaking agility to join the troupe in the treetops. Bucky was, for once, completely caught up in the moment and not thinking about any of the things that had been weighing so heavily on his mind since he had been awakened from cryosleep this time. Nyssa smiled widely at him and gestured for him to follow her.

She ducked under a low-hanging branch, veering sharply off to the left. As they kept walking, the roar of water grew louder. A few hundred yards later, they emerged on the rocky border of a lake so clear that the bottom seemed mere inches away, sunlight dancing through the water along the sandy bottom. Across the lagoon, a waterfall tumbled majestically down into the water. Bucky suddenly realized that he'd stopped breathing, and took a deep breath.

"Feel like a swim?" He glanced over at Nyssa and did a double take as he realized she was taking off her clothes. Underneath her t-shirt and pants, she wore a silver one-piece swimming suit, modestly cut by today's standards.

"You came prepared, I see," Bucky noted wryly.

"It's not my first time here," she reminded him. Setting her clothes and day pack on a rock out of danger of falling in the water, she took her hair down, shaking it out with a sigh. Stepping to the edge of the rocks, she closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun. Then she dove off the rocks, gliding gracefully down into the crystal clear water. She surfaced a minute later, halfway across the lake, and smiled back at him. He pulled his shirt off – the one part of undressing he didn't feel supremely awkward doing with just one arm – and kicked off his socks and shoes. He briefly considered trying to take off his pants, but decided the effort involved wasn't worth it. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he looked down at the water. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Nyssa dive down under the water again, and took advantage of her distraction to jump in. It felt less awkward than he expected, and the water didn't sting when he hit it, so he must not have botched the angle too badly.

After a few moments, he stopped feeling self-conscious and analyzing every move. The water was warm and enveloped his body gently, buoying him up. The last couple times he'd been in the water, it was a life or death situation, and the water had been cold and threatening. He honestly couldn't recall the last time he'd been in the water to enjoy it. Turning on his back, he floated and looked up at the sapphire sky peeking through the greenery above him. The world seemed for once less hostile and dangerous, at least as long as he stayed in the moment. It almost seemed unreal. He might have thought that he'd died and gone to heaven, except he envisioned his afterlife with decidedly more fire and brimstone.

A change in the current alerted him to someone's approach. He glanced in that direction and realized he had briefly forgotten that he wasn't alone. Nyssa smiled, treading water beside him. Her gaze shifted to the rocks above them, and her grin widened.

"There you are, you beauty," she murmured to herself. Bucky followed her gaze and tensed at the sight of the black panther standing on the rocks above them. Its golden eyes were wide as it stared down at them.

"Shit," he breathed, swimming backwards and putting more space between himself and the big cat. Nyssa glanced over at him.

"What?"

"Last time I had an encounter with a Black Panther, it didn't turn out all that well," he recalled.

"I doubt T'Challa would take kindly to you attacking their sacred animal," she pointed out. "But you can relax." She swam towards the rocks where they had left their clothing and belongings. "He and I have an understanding." Climbing agilely up the rocks, she crept on all fours towards her bag, while the panther watched her intently, the end of its tail twitching speculatively. Bucky looked from the girl to the jungle cat, his heart pounding in his ears. Diving down to the bottom of the lake, he quickly found a rock the size of his fist and swam back to the surface with it, preparing to throw it at the panther if it attacked her. By the time he surfaced, she was only a couple meters from the panther, a large slab of raw meat in one hand. She tossed it onto the rock in front of the cat, careful not to make eye contact, then sat back on her heels and waited. The panther sniffed the meat, then carried it in its jaws to a large, flat rock closer to the falls. There, it settled down to gnaw on the meat, still keeping one eye on the two humans in the lake. Nyssa dove back into the water, and Bucky finally let the rock drop from his hand. She resurfaced not far from him.

"So, you knew that it was coming?" he asked incredulously.

"He, not it. And not for sure. He doesn't come every day. But this is his territory, so it's not a complete surprise." Bucky looked from her to the panther and back again in disbelief.

"You couldn't have mentioned that before!?"

"He's not going to attack us, Bucky." She leaned back into a lazy backstroke and swam in a circle around him. "I told you, we have an understanding."

"So, what, he's your pet?" he asked. She scoffed.

"Hardly. He's not a tame panther. But he won't bother us." Disbelieving, Bucky watched the cat as he continued gnawing on the meat. He finished eating, licked his lips, then curled up in the sunshine on the rock. Bucky shook his head in disbelief and looked over to see Nyssa perched on the side of the lake, dangling her feet in the water. Her eyes twinkled at him. "Hungry for lunch?" she asked.

They spread the food out on a long, flat rock that overhung the water, Bucky positioning himself to keep an eye on the black panther, and Nyssa leaning against a rock on the other side, a towel wrapped around her hips. She, at least, appeared completely at ease. He tried his best to ignore the panther and focused his attention on her instead.

"So, what else can you do, aside from listening in on people's thoughts, fixing memory blocks and…negotiating agreements with wild animals?" he asked curiously. "What exactly does a telepath do?" She took a breath, leaning forward towards him while she dangled one foot into the water below.

"First off, that's someone else's term, not mine. I don't have a better one, so I go with it." She frowned, staring up at the sky for a long moment.

"If you don't want to tell me…" Bucky started, but stopped when she shook her head.

"No, it's fine. I've just never described it to anyone else before. It's as normal to me as breathing, but it's hard to explain." She looked back at him, a thoughtful look on her face. "We all have the physical parts of our bodies, the physical parts of our world, what we can see with our eyes and touch with our hands. But there's more to living things than just the physical. There's different types, but for the sake of brevity let's say they're all energy. Consciousness is energy, instincts are energy, emotions are a different type of energy, you add language and images to energy and now you have thoughts, knowledge, communication, memories. That's what I can tap into. That's what I sense. Does that make sense?"

"I guess so." Bucky nodded. "So what can you do with that?"

"Certain things don't require actual touch. Sensing someone's presence, hearing thoughts they are projecting, sensing emotions, especially strong ones – that all just kind of happens. It takes effort not to, sort of like you'd have to close your eyes or cover your ears to not see or hear something. If I focus, I can make someone's energy move; for example, make them want to go away or come closer. But to increase or decrease energy, like to make someone sleep, or wake them up, then I do need to touch them. And anything dealing with deeper thought or perception definitely requires touch, because it's so complex."

"So if you don't prefer the term telepath, why do they call you that?" he asked. She shrugged.

"People prefer constructs they are already familiar with." She leaned back against the rocks and took a bite of her lunch.  _A telepath reads thoughts and can talk directly into your mind,_ he heard, though her lips didn't move.  _Those are among my abilities, so it sort of fits. It's actually easier for me to communicate this way, but most people find it too intrusive, so I don't._

_And you can hear me?_ He thought back at her. She nodded.

_Your thoughts are especially clear. With the deep work we've been doing, the connection takes time to fade. I've been tuned in to you since we started._ His eyes widened, and he looked away.

_In that case, I apologize,_ he sent back.  _It's been… a rough week._

"No," she said out loud. Her tone was kind, but firm enough to make him look back at her. "Don't ever apologize for feelings. They're the most honest thing we have." He looked away again.  _It's all part of the work,_ she added in his head.  _The journey is yours, but you don't have to walk it alone._ He looked back at her sharply, half-expecting her to be teasing him, but her expression was solemn. He dropped his eyes to the water, watching the reflection of the sun sparkle across its surface. He felt torn between gratitude and shame. All the blood on his hands, the terrible things he had done… this woman knew so much of it, and still looked at him with light and caring in her eyes. He could understand Steve standing by him, a little; they had history. He felt so broken, in body and mind and spirit, but this near stranger was willing to relive his most horrific experiences with him, to stand with him when his insides were raging and sobbing and despairing all at the same time, with never a glance or breath of judgement. A gentle touch on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie, and he glanced over at Nyssa, who was now sitting next to him.

"Why?" he whispered. He couldn't seem to put together a more coherent question than that, but she seemed to understand anyway.

"I know what it's like to be powerless, forced to do things you don't want to do, against your will," she said softly. He stared at her a moment, suddenly realizing how little he knew about her despite the depth of connection they shared. She saw the question in his eyes – hell, she probably could hear it plainly in his mind – but only shook her head slightly. "I know you don't feel you're worthy," she continued, "but you do have friends who care about what happens to you. Friends who know what you've done and still care anyway. Are they all simply wrong or misguided?"

"They don't know everything," he returned stubbornly.

"But you know as well as I do that it wouldn't make a difference to them. Especially to Steve," she pointed out. Bucky sighed.

"I know." He stared down at the water again. "Sometimes I wish I could see myself as he does, figure out what he sees in me that's worth sacrificing so much for."

"He sees your heart." Her words were barely above a whisper, but still seemed to cut clean through him. He leaned back and looked up at the trees, their branches suddenly going suspiciously blurry.

"He sees a man who fell off a train seventy years ago," he said softly. Nyssa shook her head.

"You know he's read your dossier. He knows what you did. But the heart of that man, the one who fell out of the train… that's still there. Steve isn't the only one who sees it." Bucky took a deep breath, frowning up at the sky as her words stirred up feelings he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with, even with everything else he'd already faced this week. Movement caught his eye, and he cocked his head to the side.

"Are those really big birds flying up there… or people?"

* * *

Sam watched from the edge of the cliff as his six students soared across the sky in formation. Next to him, Aneka stood with her arms folded over her chest, frowning up at them. She was in charge of training the Dora Milaje, though she had agreed to work with Sam on using the wings, since he had experience and the king had insisted. There had been a lot of tension and even outright hostility in the beginning. Wakanda had been isolated from the rest of the world for most of its history, and viewed outsiders with suspicion at best. Aneka especially had been cold towards him in the beginning. As the weeks turned into months and Sam trained them in the finer points of aerial combat, the hostility had thawed to cool indifference, and then finally warmed to a grudging respect. It had helped that Sam made a point of learning the local language, using English only when he was with Steve and the others on his downtime.

The Dora Milaje were fast learners, and vicious fighters. The basics had only taken them a week or two to master, and he had been focusing on drills, formations and tactics since then. He hated to admit it, but he was close to running out of things to teach them. He still wore his gear, but had been spending more and more time on the ground, watching.

Overhead, Onyeka and Cebisa soared, Nailah and Nceba below and slightly behind, Nobomi and Fezeka above and further to the side. Aneka called out a cue, and Nobomi and Fezeka dove to the bottom of the formation. Aneka called more commands, and the formation changed shape accordingly. Aneka nodded approvingly, then reached down and took the lid off of the box at her feet. Sam frowned down at the spheres inside it.

"What are those?" he asked in Wakandan.

"A test," Aneka replied in the same language. Pressing a button on the side of the sphere, she released it, and it flew from her hands to hover in the air high above the ground, right in the path of the flying Dora Milaje. They reacted immediately, dodging out of the way of the sphere, but it began to follow them. Aneka threw seven more of the spheres out, and they hung in the air ominously. Sam resisted the urge to ask what they were again, as it was clear he was not going to get a straight answer from Aneka. It was clear from the way the Dora avoided them that they were not exactly benign. They immediately dropped out of formation to roll and dive evasively. The question answered itself five minutes later when the tip of Nailah's wing brushed one of the spheres, and it exploded. The force of the blast sent her cartwheeling, but she righted herself with a look of grim determination. Sam glanced at Aneka, eyes wide, then looked back up at the flying Dora with concern. Aneka called out for a new formation, and they obeyed, even though it caused a couple of them to skim quite close to one of the spheres. Three of the spheres were following them as they flew. They split into two groups of three and looped out, then back around towards each other. For a moment, it appeared they might collide with each other, but then one group dove towards the ground while the other soared skywards. Two of the spheres crashed into each other and exploded, safely away from any living targets.

Sam suddenly took a deep breath, realizing that he had forgotten to breathe. The Dora split up again, soaring around a pair of spheres that were hovering close together. Two more suddenly went into motion, zipping towards the flying women. Nobomi dodged to avoid a direct collision, but one of them slammed into the joint where the right wing attached and exploded. With a cry, she fell, the damaged wing trailing smoke behind her as she hurtled towards the ground. Sam was airborne before his wings fully extended, diving after her. He could hear Aneka calling him over the commlink, but he wasn't paying any attention. He could see Nobomi using the remaining functioning wing as a brake, slowing her fall the best she could, just like he had taught her. The ground beneath them offered few options for a safe landing, mostly sharp rocks and deep water. Sam stretched his hand out towards her, and she reached up for him, her dark eyes wide. He managed to grab ahold of her hand just a few meters from the ground, and held on tight as he changed course and flew back up the face of the cliff. He set her down on top of the cliff and landed next to her. Aneka was standing with arms akimbo, her expression disapproving.

"You should have let her figure it out on her own, Sam," she scolded in Wakandan. Sam shook his head.

"I'm not about to let anyone get killed on my watch," he replied in the same language. Nobomi was standing with head bowed and wings retracted, holding her right arm with her left. He could see at a glance that the explosion had scorched her shoulder. "She needs to have that burn seen to. I can take her. Try not to get anyone killed before I get back." They started to walk away.

"She failed the test," Aneka called after them. Sam stopped and turned back towards her.

"With respect, Aneka," he said, "people don't learn nearly as well when they're dead." Ignoring the glare he got in reply, he turned back and walked with Nobomi back towards the palace. She was silent at first.

"Thank you," she finally said. "But perhaps you should have let me fall." Sam shook his head.

"Not while I'm around," he said. "Look, it's practice. That's supposed to mean you can make mistakes and not be killed by them. Then you learn from them, and you improve. That's how it's supposed to work."

"But I failed," she protested. Sam shook his head.

"You adapted. Things like that happen on the battlefield, and you have to figure it out. You were stalling correctly; if the ground had been less treacherous you would have been able to land safely. It isn't wrong to need help from a teammate. That's why they're there. I'm not about to lose you over some stunt…" Nobomi stopped and stared at him. He paused and half turned back towards her with a frown. He replayed the last sentence in his head and realized he had used a singular, personal "you" that implied a much different relationship than the one they had. "Ah, I mean, you, all of you. I'm not about to lose any of you while training you. Sorry, I'm… still learning." She regarded him a moment longer, then suddenly flashed him a brilliant smile.

"I guess we all are." She strode past him, and Sam watched her walk away for a moment before jogging a few steps to catch up with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written prior to the release of Black Panther. The Dora Milaje do not match exactly as they appear in the MCU. Okoye and Shuri belong to Marvel, but the majority of the rest are original characters. Most of the inconsistencies stem from writing "blind," so to speak.


	7. Friends

Nyssa had a smile on her face as she got back to her room that evening, though it faded as soon as she touched the door leading into her room, instead growing concerned. She opened the door to find Steve waiting there for her.

"Steve," she said with a nod in greeting, dropping her day pack on the floor. He rose from where he had been sitting on the couch. "You were the last one I expected to come and see me…" Her voice trailed off as she scanned his handsome features. "…but you're not here to chat about yourself, are you?" Steve frowned at her, his expression pensive.

"How are things going with Bucky?" he asked quietly.

"As well as can be expected," she replied. "It's not something that corrects itself overnight. Even if I could do that, I wouldn't want to release that much trauma all at once." The guilt that she felt tear through him barely registered on his face.

"Does he have all of his memories back, then?"

"Most of them." She leaned against the back of the couch Steve had been sitting on. "Steve, why are you really here? What's bothering you?" Steve looked at her in silence for a moment, and she waited. He dropped his gaze to the carpet.

"Does he… did he… resent me? For not coming after him after he fell from the train?" The question was barely above a whisper. Her heart dropped.

"That's sounds like a question for him, not for me," she said gently. Steve shook his head, still not meeting her eyes.

"I could never be sure," he whispered. "Even if he tells me no, how can I trust he isn't trying to spare me? If I hear it from you, I'll know it's true. You don't have a reason…"

"If you recall, I told you that I take client privilege very seriously, Steve," she reminded him. "I can't discuss any details with you. Not without his permission." He looked up at her with a plea in his eyes, and for a moment she saw, not the heroic figure that for so long had been the symbol of truth and justice, but a little boy from Brooklyn trying to be brave even through he felt like crying.

"Please," he whispered. She could see how long this question had tortured him, on top of the guilt he felt over Bucky's fall. He blamed himself; he needed to know whether his friend blamed him, too. Taking a deep breath, she sent a thought in Bucky's direction.

_Do you mind if I talk with Steve about how your therapy is going?_ She asked.  _He wants to know._

Bucky's response was tinged with surprise.  _I guess I thought you were already telling him everything._

_No. There's this little thing called consent. It's all the rage now. He learns nothing unless it's okay with you._

_I guess it's okay. I think he knows… most of it anyway._ Nyssa nodded and sat down on the couch, looking up at Steve.

"Are you sure you want to know the answer?" she asked quietly. Steve folded his arms over his chest.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," he replied.

"No, he didn't blame you or resent you. He still held out hope – at least a part of him did – that you'd come for him. Until they told him you died, and then wiped him, and then he didn't remember you anymore." Steve stared at her for a moment, his jaw working as he processed this answer.

"Thank you," he said finally, and turned to go, grief and guilt still bowing his shoulders. Nyssa stood and took a step after him.

"He wasn't wrong, Steve," she pointed out. Steve froze mid-stride. She put a hand on his arm. "As soon as you realized he was still alive, you did come for him. And you saved him."

"After seventy years of… what they did to him." His voice was rough with barely restrained emotion, and he still faced the door.

"What they did to him is horrific, but not your fault. You can't be held responsible for every terrible thing that happens to the people you care about," she said softly. "You can't keep all of them safe, all of the time."

"Then what was the point of all of this?" he whispered roughly, his hand resting on his chest.

"Gifts like ours, like yours, often come with a price, but it isn't always obvious what that price will be when they are given to us. But… can you imagine what the world would be like today if you hadn't let them turn you into Captain America?" Steve stared at her, his brows knit together as he contemplated her words.

"Bucky never would have fallen from the train," he said mournfully.

"No, because he would have already been dead," she pointed out. "Without your decision to disobey orders, he would have died along with the rest of the 107th. Or worse, Zola would have turned him into his puppet at that point, and you wouldn't be there to remind him who he really was. He would have remained the Winter Soldier until the end. And Red Skull might have won. Or Loki might have won. Or Hydra, or Ultron… You've saved the world, Steve. Many times over. You always knew that didn't mean saving everyone. Sometimes it doesn't mean saving the ones you most want to. You save who you can. Let the rest go. Not their memories, but the responsibility, the blame. Not even you are strong enough to carry all that. And you shouldn't have to." Something in her voice made Steve turn to face her. She smiled sadly at him.

"Steve Rogers, the man with so much heart they had to resize his body to match it. This is another chance for you, too, not just for him." Steve sighed, even as one corner of his mouth twitched upward at her description of him.

"I know. And it's great having him back, it's just…."

"Not what you expected?" she supplied helpfully. "Not exactly like picking up where you left off, like you had hoped?"

"I knew it wasn't going to be that. I just… I've been trying to give him space, since it seems like that's what he wants. Time to figure things out." Steve sat down on the couch. "I know he's been through hell, and things aren't going to be the same right away. I just… don't know if there's something different I should be doing."

"I wouldn't say you're doing anything wrong," she replied, sitting down across from him. "Just consider…"

* * *

The sun was setting as Bucky sat down at the table in his room, freshly showered and dressed in clean, dry clothes. He picked up one of his notebooks and a pen. He was intent on preserving the day's events along with his other memories. These he was looking forward to recording for once. He smiled as he wrote, recalling some of the moments shared. Today was a day to hold onto, to look back on when the days became darker, as they always had in the past; as he anticipated they would again. The sun had long vanished below the horizon when he finally set his pen down and stretched his neck and shoulders, cramped from sitting hunched over and writing. Yawning, he crossed the room and crawled into bed.

* * *

"…and I just never figured it out. Still haven't. Working for Black Panther works for now, I guess. I trust him more than… what SHIELD ended up being. But after that…" he shrugged.

"They built you to be a soldier, Steve, but you're more than that," she replied. "A good soldier follows orders without question. You want to know that what you're doing is for the right reasons, because you are led by your own compass."

"Not a perfect soldier, but a good man," Steve said softly. She nodded.

"Exactly. And SHIELD did you no favors by thawing you out and just throwing you into the new century with no guidance and no help except for telling you what they needed you to fight for. It's no wonder you had trouble finding your footing. That was their failure, not yours."

"I did the best I could. Every time I thought I had it figured out, everything changed."

"You have no trouble finding what you're willing to fight for, even what you're willing to die for, but you haven't yet found something to live for. That's why it feels empty. There will always be more battles to fight, but a cause gives you a reason to get up in the morning. If you can figure that part out, the rest... may not get easier, but it will at least feel more worthwhile." Steve contemplated this for a few moments, then glanced at the clock.

"Wow, it's late! I'm sorry to take so much of your time. I'm not even sure how we ended up talking about me…" Steve stood, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"People who come to see me usually end up talking about what they need to," Nyssa said reassuringly. "I hope you're feeling better."

"I am, actually, a little bit. Thank you." She smiled and touched her temple with two fingers in a salute.

"I'm glad. Good night, Steve."

* * *

Bucky's dreams started out sweet, for once. Nyssa beckoned and he followed, chasing her through the woods. She smiled at him, her laughter echoing through the trees as they both ran. The forest around them slowly grew colder, and he began to notice snow on the ground around them. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and her expression had become one of terror and fear. He glanced down and realized he was carrying an assault rifle, gleaming lethally in the moonlight. Rather than playfully luring him, Nyssa now scrambled to get away from him. He watched in horror as his hands raised the firearm into position, his mind screaming in protest as it fired once, twice, three times. Nyssa stumbled, screamed, then crumpled in a heap. Throwing the weapon aside, he ran to her, taking her limp body in his arms. Blood soaked her shirt and trickled down her face, her lifeless eyes staring accusingly at him.

"No!" he jerked awake, the despair and helplessness lessening only slightly as he realized it was just a dream. He lay staring at the ceiling for a long time, unwilling to surrender to sleep if that was what it would bring. He ended up getting up to pace. Sometimes it helped. He'd done it frequently while he was living in Bucharest, stepping as quietly as he could over the thin, creaking floorboards so as not to wake the neighbors. He'd memorized every board; which ones were safe and which ones made noise, and paced for hours without making a sound. Here, the floors were quieter, and it was easy for him to glide along, noiseless as a ghost. After several hours, he fell back into bed, and exhaustion claimed him.

* * *

He was awakened by a knock at his door, and opened his eyes to find sun streaming in the window. He slowly pushed the covers back and sat up. The tentative knock at the door came again, and he went and opened it. Relief flooded through him as he saw Nyssa standing on the other side, still alive. She smiled at him, but then it faded into concern.

"Good morning," she greeted him. "…did you sleep?" He shrugged.

"A little." Her eyes searched his, and he tried to banish the imagery still haunting him from his dreams last night. Sensing him pulling away, she glanced at the floor for a moment before looking back up at him.

"I think it would be best if we postponed today's session. You need time to rest and process. We'll meet again tomorrow."

"Okay." He wasn't sure why he felt guilty, as if this was due to a failure on his part. She smiled reassuringly at him.

"You're doing fine. Sometimes it's better to just take a day and breathe. For both of us. I do have one request, though. Call it a homework assignment." Bucky raised his eyebrows at her. "I know it's tempting to hole up here by yourself. It's what you've gotten used to. But I want you to spend today around other people."

"Okay. Seems simple enough." He raised his eyebrows at her hopefully. "Are you one of the options?" She chuckled.

"I'm flattered, but no. I think there are other people who would enjoy your company." Bucky raised an eyebrow at her.

"Does this have something to do with you talking to Steve about me last night?" he asked.

"It may have inspired an idea, but I think it's a good one, and no he didn't ask me to do this." She leaned in closer. "You have friends now, Bucky. Go be friendly."

"If you insist," he said with a half-smirk.

* * *

Steve hadn't gotten back into his art, or even really thought about it, since waking up in the 21st Century. He hadn't had time, he hadn't had ideas, he hadn't had the inclination, although apparently he'd had plenty of excuses. In the past few months, though, things had changed. He wasn't sure if it was the gorgeous scenery, the fact that down time wasn't at such a premium, or that Bucky was alive and he knew where he was. Whatever the cause, he'd found some paints at the open-air market a few weeks ago, and purchased them on impulse. At first, he had just painted local landscapes or closeups of some of the local flora, but once the painting bug had bitten again, he started painting things from memory: a dirty Brooklyn cityscape, circa 1932; a battlefield strewn with corpses set against a sky aflame with the vivid colors of sunrise; the busy sights and bright lights of Coney Island; a group of kids hanging off a fire escape on a red brick building. Rows of canvas filled with colors – some vibrant, some more muted – were stacked into the corners of his quarters. A few that he was satisfied with were hanging on the walls. He still didn't sleep much, so most early mornings found him painting, sometimes out on the balcony to take advantage of the light. He was so absorbed in his work that the knock didn't register right away. When he heard it again, he set down his brush with a sigh and went to answer the door. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Bucky! What's going on, is everything okay?" he asked. Bucky frowned at him, looking vaguely insulted.

"What, I can't just come and visit my friend?" he replied.

"Of course you can, Buck," Steve said softly. "You just… haven't." The indignation slowly faded from Bucky's face, replaced by a sheepish half-smile.

"I guess this is a bit overdue," he admitted. "So… can I still come in?"

"Sure." Steve stepped back and Bucky came in, then stopped short as he looked around the room.

"You didn't mention you were painting again," he said in surprise. Steve ducked his head, almost looking embarrassed.

"It's not something I'm advertising," he confessed.

"Why not?" Bucky asked, looking over the paintings closest to him. "These are… stunning. You always had talent, Steve, but I've gotta say, these are some of your best work."

"The serum does enhance, well, everything," Steve said with a sigh.

"So why don't you sell some of them? A Captain America original would be worth a lot to some people, I'd imagine."

"First of all, I'm not Captain America anymore…"

"Might not make a difference to some people."

"…and secondly, I just don't know if I'm ready to sell them yet." He looked keenly at his friend. "You tell me, Buck. How much would you sell a memory for?"

"Point taken." Bucky looked more closely at the painting in front of him, studying the faces. "Is that Charlie McGannon and Edgar Duffy?" A slow smile spread across Steve's face.

"Sure is. And if you look in that shadows behind that dumpster…" Bucky looked where he pointed, squinting at the painted details.

"Gertie Callaghan and Wally Breen?" he guessed, and smirked. "They always thought they were so sneaky, but everyone knew what they were doing." Steve grinned.

"So you do have your memories back," he said. Bucky glanced at him, then continued looking around at the paintings.

"If there are still pieces missing, well… I don't remember. But I remember that." He pointed to another one of the paintings. "And that one. And that." He frowned at a canvas covered in muted blues and greys and tilted his head to the side. "Not this one, though."

"You weren't there for that one," Steve said softly. "That was after." He didn't say what it was after, but he didn't need to, either. Bucky turned and caught sight of the paintings hanging on the walls; two familiar portraits looking out at him. One was Sarah Rogers, smiling and healthy, blue eyes keen and knowing, the grey pall of illness not yet cast over her features. The other was Peggy Carter, her expression softer than in her official photos, with both fire and love in her gaze.

"Damn," he commented. Steve came over and stood beside him, looking at the two most influential women he'd ever known.

"Did I do them justice?" he asked. Bucky nodded.

"It does seem like they're watching me. It's a little uncanny, actually," he said jokingly. Steve snorted.

"There's a reason I didn't hang them in my bedroom," he replied. Bucky scanned the other paintings nearby.

"So… no Sharon?" he asked innocently. "Is she still around? Are you two…" Steve shrugged.

"We're still… I'm still trying to figure out what we are, exactly. She doesn't get to come and visit much. Mostly they have her chained to a desk in Munich. Helping us didn't exactly earn her any favors." Bucky frowned.

"That's pretty harsh punishment," he remarked. "I didn't realize the CIA used those kinds of tactics." Steve glanced at him, confused as to what he meant for a moment, then looked shocked as he realized what his friend was thinking.

"Figuratively, Buck. They don't literally chain people to desks." Bucky looked unconvinced, but didn't argue.

"So she does come to visit?"

"A couple times. She might be here again next week. I… definitely enjoy her company." Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

"But…?" he prompted. Steve looked at the portrait of Peggy with a wry half-smile.

"She might have set the bar a little high," he admitted. Bucky chuckled quietly and turned, continuing to look at the paintings. He stopped and stared at one at the end of a stack of canvases crammed into a corner. Jewel-toned blues started out light, growing more murky towards the bottom, framing the silver arm reaching down from above. Bucky picked it up to take a closer look, but found another picture of himself behind it. Slowly, he worked his way through the stack, each picture featuring him, each image slightly different than he recalled it, seen through Steve's eyes instead of his own. The last canvas had been turned around to face the wall, as if it had been banished to the corner as punishment. He picked it up and turned it around as Steve made a noise of protest. The picture was of a familiar valley, but it took him a minute to place it. Mountains dropped away steeply to a river cutting through snow. A tiny figure tumbled through the shadows, barely noticeable unless you looked for it. He glanced over at Steve, who was leaning against an end table, arms folded over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor.

"This one looked a bit different from my end," he remarked, hoping that would draw at least a smile from Steve, but his friend still looked devastated.

"I hate that picture," he muttered. Bucky set it down and turned it back towards the wall.

"Why paint it, then?" he asked. Steve shrugged.

"It helped get it out of my head. I stopped seeing it every night in my sleep," he said softly. He looked up at Bucky abruptly. "Do you forgive me… for that day?" Bucky frowned.

"Forgive you? No." Steve closed his eyes, looking as if Bucky had just punched him in the gut. Bucky put a hand on his shoulder. "There's nothing to forgive." Steve took a deep breath and stood a little straighter. He leveled a stern look that masked his relief at Bucky.

"You're still a jerk," he noted. Bucky shrugged.

"And you're still a little punk. I don't care how tall you are now." Steve looked as if he was about to reply, but they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Bucky leaned back against the wall, still staring at the painting of his arm in the water while Steve answered the door. It was one of the Dora Milaje. He didn't understand their conversation, but he understood the look of chagrin on Steve's face when he turned back towards him.

"I guess I have a meeting with the king, now," he said ruefully. Bucky shrugged, hiding his disappointment with a half-smile.

"Then I guess I'll have to find someone else to bother," he replied. Steve glanced at him as he pulled his black uniform shirt on.

"Sam mentioned something about a project he was going to be working on today," he suggested. "You could see if he needs any help." He smoothed his hair back into place and smirked at Bucky. "Just don't do anything stupid until I get back." Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

"Like what? Go around picking fights I can't finish with guys twice my size? Or how about with a god? Or a genocidal robot with an entire army of robots?" Steve rolled his eyes; Bucky just smirked.

"I thought I told Clint to gloss over those parts," he muttered.

"Apparently you forgot to tell Wanda."

* * *

He found Sam in one of the palace out-buildings, in a large shed that used to be used for storage but at the moment was standing mostly neglected. Sam was lying under a car that was almost more rust than paint, with patches of body missing. The hood was propped up, and it had cement blocks holding up the axles. Bucky poked his head under the hood, looking down through the engine block at the man lying underneath.

"Want some help?" he asked. A sharp bang came from beneath the car, followed by a string of profanity. Sam shoved out from under the car and stood, rubbing his forehead.

"Dammit, Barnes. You need to chill with that sneaky ex-assassin bullshit," he complained.

"Sorry," Bucky replied unapologetically. "What is this?" Sam grinned and turned back towards the car.

"Isn't it great? T'Challa just had it sitting around. Belonged to some "explorers" that were snooping around a couple decades ago. He said I could just have it. Can you believe that?"

"Actually, yes," Bucky said dryly, eyeing the unimpressive heap. "How is this great?" Sam scoffed and gestured grandly to the car.

"This is a 1967 Alfa Romeo Spider. One of these in mint condition is worth $65000!"

"How about in, ah, rusted out, undriveable, barely salvageable condition?" Bucky asked.

"She needs some work," Sam admitted. "But that's part of the fun! I just need to repair or replace the carburetor, new battery, probably a new starter, brakes, brake lines, tires, a little body work… and she'll be good as new!" Bucky remained skeptical.

"Sure, replace all the old car parts with new car parts, and basically you'll have a new car," he pointed out. Sam chuckled.

"It's not as bad as that. Transmission's good, engine block is solid, drive train is still mostly intact. It just needs a little work." Bucky raised an eyebrow and grabbed the handle of the passenger door, which came off in his hand with very little effort. Sam sighed. "Okay, a lot of work."

"You realize they have cars here that drive themselves now, right?" Bucky said, holding up the door handle. "Some of them even fly." Sam made a dismissive gesture.

"This is a classic. It's not the same thing." He gave Bucky a sly look. "You know, the ladies love a guy with a nice car." Bucky raised his eyebrows at him. "So yeah, if you want to give me a hand, I'm sure I can use it." With a smirk, Bucky raised his right hand.

"You have it," he said. Sam shook his head.

"I didn't mean it that way… Look, just… hand me that wrench over there once I'm underneath, okay?" Sam lay back down on the creeper and pushed back under the car. A moment later, he extended his hand for the tool, and Bucky gave it to him.


	8. Mended with Gold

It was getting dark before they decided to be done for the day, aching muscles and empty bellies reminding them it had been hours since taking a break. Bucky was starting to see the appeal of working on the car. Most of what they had gotten done that day was taking broken parts off, but Sam's enthusiastic descriptions of how awesome it was going to be helped make the lack of visible progress less discouraging. There was also something satisfying about working together towards a common goal. Overall, it had been a good day. He was almost back to his room when his vision briefly dimmed, and then a wave of memories slammed into him. Gasping, he froze in his tracks, his hand automatically reaching for the wall nearest him. The images and emotions battered at him as if they were physical objects, leaving him breathless. The wave gradually subsided, but he could feel another gathering strength behind it. His thoughts went to Nyssa, almost desperately.

_Help?_ He thought, not really expecting any response.

_This way,_ came the reply, and he felt himself pulled further down the hallway. His hand found the doorknob, and he stumbled across the room, his vision still obscured by flickering memories. He almost fell as the second wave hit. The guiding hand on his arm almost didn't register.

"Sit." He wasn't sure whether her voice was in his head or she said it aloud, but he sat anyway, and found a firm surface beneath him. The images seemed to grow more intense, sometimes slowing down for a particularly emotional moment; sometimes speeding up again and leaving him breathless and drowning in the rapid-fire deluge of emotion after emotion. Fear followed panic followed rage followed terror followed despair, with no time for him to catch his breath in between.

Suddenly, the intensity of the experience dropped abruptly. The memories still flashed before him, but it was almost as if he had been wrapped in a warm blanket that provided a buffer against the emotions flooding in with them. Somewhat reassured, he was able to relax a little, and took a deep breath. A few minutes later, the storm ended. He let out a shaky breath and blinked as his vision cleared. He looked around and realized he was in a bathroom. Next to him, wrapped in a towel and hair still damp, Nyssa was leaning against the edge of the bathtub, which was filled with what he assumed was water, but a peachy-orange color that smelled vaguely of citrus. He quickly looked away from her state of relative undress, feeling his face grow warm.

"Sorry to intrude…" he mumbled. With a soft chuckle, she reached past him and grabbed her robe off the hook on the wall. Standing, she shrugged into the robe, then let the towel fall from underneath, managing to change without exposing any more than she already had. Bucky stared at the strange-colored water in the tub. "What the hell is in that?"

"A bath bomb," she informed him, amusement in her tone. He glanced at her in disbelief, then looked back at the water warily. She grinned at his reaction. "No explosives involved, that's just what they're called. It's marketing, not creative warfare." She gestured out the door. "It will be less awkward out here, I think."

"Sorry," Bucky said again. She shook her head at him.

"Emergencies happen. I'm glad you reached out. I'm just not about to get in the habit of holding therapy sessions in my bathroom." Crossing to the little kitchenette, she poured hot water from the kettle on the stove into a mug, then handed it to him. "Make yourself at home. I'm going to get dressed, and then we'll talk." She held a finger up at him. "Don't go anywhere." He ducked his head. Of course she would have sensed that he was ready to bolt. Instead, he turned his attention to the room, taking a sip from the mug and finding it was sweet hot cocoa. Soft music was playing, though he couldn't identify the source. There wasn't much in the room to personalize it; no pictures, few personal items beyond a row of textbooks on a shelf. On an end table sat a small green bowl with gold lines shot through in an irregular pattern. He set the mug of cocoa down and touched the bowl tentatively. He was unsure if he should pick it up; it looked both precious and fragile. The pattern of the gold seemed both random and familiar. He traced a gold line with a finger, and suddenly recalled a memory from his childhood.

_It was raining, and Steve's mother was still at work, so they were spending the afternoon at Steve's apartment. Bucky was teaching him how to throw and take punches, because "if you have to fight everyone, you should at least know how to do it properly." Steve was a fast learner, and even though he was neither particularly fast nor strong, he was persistent, and occasionally he got in a lucky shot. His punch knocked Bucky back into the china cabinet, and they were both grinning at the blow until the crash came from inside it. Steve opened the door to see one of the teacups shattered on the bottom._

_"Shit, Buck… those were my grandma's," Steve whispered, his breath starting to get wheezy. Bucky was already heading to the kitchen, where Steve's mom kept the glass nebulizer and vials of ephedrine in case of emergencies. Steve hated the treatment, but sometimes it was necessary… his gaze fell instead on a tube of super glue, and he grabbed it triumphantly._

_"It'll be okay, Steve, we can fix it!" Steve stared at the small tube held triumphantly in Bucky's hand, and his wheezing started to calm down. The two boys, one nine and one ten, had given their project the same amount of concentration as a brain surgeon might. The end result had been passable, but probably wouldn't have held water for long. They had presented the cup to Steve's mom when she got home, with a stammered confession from Steve. She hadn't gotten upset – just looked tired – and placed the cup in the middle of the dining room table, as a reminder to the boys to be more careful next time._

_The mended teacup was still sitting in the place of honor years later. Bucky encountered Dr. Hoffman coming out of their apartment, his face flushed and indignant. He had been the family physician for years, and usually was called for Steve, but this time Steve wasn't home; he was waiting for Bucky a couple blocks away._

_"Maybe you can talk some sense into her!" Dr. Hoffman huffed, and then left, slamming the door so hard that the walls shook, the table vibrated, and the teacup bounced off center. Bucky automatically reached out to move it back, and heard soft sobbing coming from the bedroom. The sobbing quickly devolved into a coughing fit, which was a more common sound in the Rogers household. Bucky went down the hall and poked his head into the room._

_"Sarah?" he said quietly. When he and Steve had first become friends, he had called her Mrs. Rogers, but that changed to Mrs. R as he started spending more time at the Rogers' household than his own. Once he became taller than her, she started insisting he call her by her first name, teasing him that it made her feel old now that he was all grown up. She had never seemed particularly old to him, with blue eyes, blond hair and Steve's features set in a more feminine face. But today, she looked far older, her face drawn, pale and grey in the dimming light. She was up and sitting in the chair next to the window, a handkerchief stained various shades of red and brown pressed to her face. When she saw him, she quickly wiped her eyes and tried to hide the handkerchief in her pocket, but not before he saw the bright red blood._

_"Bucky." She attempted a smile, but it seemed out of place with her red eyes and tear-streaked face. "You and Steve have plans?" He nodded._

_"We were going to go see a picture, if that's okay."_

_"Which one?" she asked weakly._

_"That new Flash Gordon. Steve was talking about it the other day." She nodded._

_"Take his sweater. It's supposed to be cold tonight." Bucky took a step closer, and his foot bumped into her garbage can, which was out of place sitting in the middle of the room. He frowned as he saw her bible and the crucifix from her bedroom wall discarded there._

_"What's going on?" he asked._

_"Oh, we're fighting," she said lightly, looking back out the window. He remained silent, watching her. Another tear rolled down her cheek. "They want to send me away, Bucky. To a sanatorium." She shook her head. "Steve shouldn't be within a mile of one of those places. I'm just trying to understand…" Her voice trailed off and she looked over at him again. "What kind of a cruel God would make a mother choose between abandoning her son… or possibly killing him?" Bucky swallowed down the lump that suddenly tightened his throat._

_"Don't you worry about Steve," he said reassuringly. She smiled at him through the tears, and this time it didn't seem so forced._

_"I know I don't even have to ask," she said softly. "I'm so glad that he has you, Bucky."_

Bucky smiled sadly at the memories, gazing down at the little bowl.

"It's called kintsugi." He turned to see Nyssa standing behind him. "It's a Japanese technique. They use gold to mend the broken piece, with the understanding that it is more beautiful for having been broken." She walked over next to him and picked the bowl up. "This was a gift from my Japanese roommate in college. The reminder was very helpful to me at the time." She handed it to him carefully, inviting him to take a closer look. He held it gingerly, his thumb tracing one of the lines of gold, then set it gently back down, his expression thoughtful. Picking his mug of hot cocoa back up, he went to sit down in one of the chairs.

"So, you had another memory cascade," she said, settling into the chair opposite him. "Was there something that triggered it?" He shook his head.

"Not that I could tell." He frowned at the floor. "I spent most of the day working on a car with Sam, and was on my way back when it hit. What does it mean?"

"Well, I think it's likely one of two things," she replied. "It could be a delayed cascade from the last session."

"What's the other option?" he asked warily. She half-smiled at him.

"It might just be a spontaneous cascade," she said.

"Which means it might happen again," he translated.

"It may," she replied honestly. "If it is what I think it is, it likely will. I know it isn't a pleasant experience, but I think it's actually an encouraging sign. Your mind is starting to heal itself. The cascades are part of that process. My suspicion is that this is temporary, but if you like we can go over some ways you can manage it when it happens."

"Right now?" he asked. It had been kind of a long day, and after the cascade he was feeling quite drained. She shook her head.

"We can start with that tomorrow. And then practice it after, assuming it does trigger a cascade." He nodded slowly, running his hand over his face.

"And in the meantime?" he asked. She stood and touched his shoulder lightly.

"Get some sleep," she said softly.

* * *

Writing in his notebooks had become part of his nightly ritual, a purging of whatever was rattling around in his head that day. It didn't fix the nightmares, but it at least emptied out the accusations and rambling thoughts that made sleep too elusive. He hadn't exactly been lying about remembering the people he killed. They haunted him every night, as he killed them over and over in his dreams, waking up in a cold sweat and lashing out in protest as he was helpless to stop it from happening once again. Over the last couple weeks, as the memories he had access to grew, and so did the nightmares. Every night, it seemed his brain found new ways to torment him with visions of blood and death; all his fault, all by his hand.

He got up to pace again, trying to pull his mind away from the disturbing images and memories, focusing on what was there in the room, focusing on his breath. When he tried to steer it away from the dark and disturbing, he found his thoughts kept returning to Nyssa. He had never met anyone like her. Though he hadn't known her for very long, she had a way that put him at ease. With her, he felt safe and comfortable, even though their sessions were sometimes very intense. The images of their times together stuck with him. Memories of her in her bathrobe; of sitting with her by the secret lake and having a picnic – these were infinitely more pleasant to dwell on than the horrors that usually occupied his mind. With a sigh, he lay back down again. This time, at least for the first part of the night, his dreams were more enjoyable.


	9. Complications

The next morning, Bucky overslept and missed the usual group breakfast. On his way to the study for the next session, he found himself first ruminating on, then pushing away, the dreams from the night before. How the hell did you hide things like that from someone who could literally read your mind? He felt a flush of guilt as he walked in and she looked up, and tried to focus on something else – anything else.

This session was somewhat more involved, starting with discussions and practice of ways to manage the flood of emotions that accompanied each memory cascade. There were plenty of other things to think about and keep himself distracted, and if she caught any inkling, she didn't mention it. He was starting to look forward to the part where he destroyed the barrier programmed into his mind by Hydra. Sometimes he set explosives, sometimes he smashed through it with a hammer or other blunt object, occasionally tearing into it with his bare hands and dismantling it piece by piece. He usually had his arm back for these as well, and as nice as it was to have the use of two hands, he still didn't trust himself to have the arm attached in real life until the last vestiges of Hydra's control over him had been destroyed. However he chose to tear it down, its destruction was always accompanied by an immense feeling of satisfaction. He was taking his own power back, little by little. This time, he opted for a large hammer, with a long handle and satisfying heft. Sometimes the walls were brick or stone, sometimes they were metal. This one was a solid chunk of concrete, stretching out of his view in both directions and towering over him. Taking a deep breath, he set to work, swinging straight for the Hydra sigil emblazoned on it.

After the first couple sessions, Nyssa didn't manifest herself in these places with him anymore, instead leaving him to do this work on his own while she waited patiently, monitoring from afar as he delved deeper into his own mind. Today he was in a contemplative mood, not filled with the same rage he had been in the past, and so he worked methodically, tearing down the wall section by section in silence. The sweat dripped off him and ran in rivulets down his back. The last of the wall fell, and he set the hammer down and turned expectantly towards the horizon.

Since he was anticipating it now, the oncoming storm did not seem as fearsome. Rather than letting himself be swept up in the waves of emotion, he just let them wash over him and pass, without judgement. They were a part of him, a part long lost and forgotten.

After the storm passed, he opened his eyes again to find himself lying on the couch in the study. The first moments back in reality were always a bit disorienting, but he quickly got his bearings.

"Not sure if that was less intense, or if I'm getting used to it," he commented softly. Nyssa nodded from the chair.

"Maybe a little of both," she suggested. He looked up at her.

"Are you going for a hike again today?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"No, actually. I have another session in about 20 minutes," Nyssa replied. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Really? With who?" he asked. She shook her head at him.

"Client confidentiality, Bucky. That's not for me to tell."

"But it's one of them, right? So you're basically the official superhero therapist now," he pointed out with a half-smile. She gave him a sideways glance.

"Oh, I've been doing that since before I arrived here." He looked at her in surprise, the question in his eyes, but she only smiled at him. "Go rest, Bucky."

* * *

Nyssa waited in the study, answering emails on her laptop and finishing her session notes until a hesitant knock came at the door. She immediately set the computer aside.

"Come in," she called. Wanda came in, her hands clasped in front of her, and sat down on the couch. "Welcome, Wanda. How are you doing?"

"Better, actually," she admitted. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about what we talked about last time. You said that you can use your power to help people, or even heal them. Before we get to the talking part… do you think you could teach me?" Nyssa looked at her in surprise.

"Your power far exceeds mine," she pointed out. Wanda nodded.

"But Hydra never encouraged me to do anything with it but destroy. I never even thought about using it in other ways. Will you teach me?" Slowly, Nyssa nodded.

"I can show you how I do what I do. It will probably work a little differently for you."

* * *

Rather than rest as Nyssa suggested, Bucky opted to go check out the shed where Sam was storing the car. He found the man once again half under the car, his head and arms out of sight.

"What are you up to?" he asked, stepping right next to the pair of legs sticking out from underneath. He suppressed a smile at the sudden clunk and muffled profanity. Sam pushed himself out from under the car on the creeper.

"Really?" he said, leveling a glare at Bucky. "I warned you about that, asshole." Bucky shrugged.

"If you don't want my help, I can just leave," he said. Sam rubbed his forehead, still looking at Bucky with eyes narrowed.

"I'm trying to get the exhaust off, but some of these bolts are extra stubborn," he explained. Bucky held out his hand.

"Want me to try?" Sam handed over the torque wrench. Bucky dropped down onto the creeper and rolled himself under the car.

"I mean, I was thinking I might have to get some pneumatic tools to tackle it. Everything here is way more advanced but I could order some. They're on there really tight, and then rusted on top of that, so…" Sam's explanation trailed off as Bucky's hand came out from under the car with four rusty bolts in his palm. He dropped them on the ground, then went back to work. "Huh. I must have loosened them up for you," Sam decided. The chuckle that drifted out from under the chassis ended in a grunt as Bucky muscled off another one.

"Did I miss anything important at breakfast this morning?" he asked. Sam shook his head.

"Nothing major. Scott being a bonehead, as usual. Wanda and Nyssa being besties and having conversations nobody else can hear. Clint isn't supposed to be back for another week at least. Steve wanting to talk business at breakfast. If I've told him once, I've told him a million times to leave the mission planning for after breakfast. I do strategy better on a full stomach."

"Have you guys been seeing a lot of action?" Bucky asked. From what he'd seen, things had been fairly calm, but he wasn't exactly in T'Challa's inner circle.

"There's been some raids on vibranium shipments, so we're talking about joining the escort for the next few, for some added security. It's just like your girlfriend predicted." Bucky frowned up at the underside of the car.

"My what?" he asked.

"You know, that woman you spend every morning and some afternoons with? The one you convinced to start having breakfast with you?"

"You mean my therapist?" Bucky asked pointedly. Sam chuckled.

"I've seen the way you look at her. You can fool yourself if you like, but it sure doesn't look like the next therapy session you're thinking about." The last bolt came out, missing Bucky's ear by millimeters. That section of exhaust was still sticking stubbornly to the undercarriage, so he pried it loose with his fingers. Chunk of pipe in hand, he rolled out from under the car to give Sam a blank look.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. He didn't miss Sam's flinch at the length of pipe in Bucky's flexed arm, although it was quickly covered. Bucky carefully straightened his arm and let the pipe fall to the ground.

"Now, that I believe," Sam replied with a smirk. Bucky stood up, brushing flakes of rust and dirt off of his shirt but succeeding mostly in smearing it into the fabric.

"The next section doesn't look as rusted," he said. "Think you can handle it?" Sam grabbed the wrench from him and pulled himself back under the car. Bucky leaned over and peered through the engine.

"Are you sure that the drive train is solid?" he asked. "Now that the exhaust is off, it looks pretty rusty. I thought the front axle looked a little shaky closer to the middle."

"What?" Sam rolled over to take a closer look. There was a long silence, and then he sighed. "Yeah, I see what you mean. We might…" The car shuddered, a groaning screech coming from underneath, and Bucky grabbed the bottom edge of the chassis and lifted just as the car buckled. Sam came shooting out from under it, looking a little shaken. "Yeah, okay, we're going to have to replace that axle." Bucky set the car back down. Sam took a deep breath and looked up at Bucky from the creeper. "Thanks." Bucky shrugged.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, conversation died immediately as Clint sat down at the table.

"Clint, you're back early," Steve observed. Clint nodded, his expression tense.

"I need a favor," he said. All eyes at the table were on him. "Nat sent an urgent message. Apparently they decided not to give her an option on the tracking device and didn't tell her about it. It's an injectable one that they slipped in at her last mandatory physical. She told me she figured it out right after she got back from a visit to the farm." Steve frowned.

"So now whoever was tracking her knows where it is," he finished up. Clint nodded grimly.

"The farm is now on the map and on the books. She's worried that it might not be safe there anymore, but she can't go back and do anything about it because they're still keeping close tabs on her. Now that the tracker is in place, they'll know if she tampers with it. Per the Accords, removal is grounds for immediate arrest." He managed to sound disgusted, worried and furious all at the same time.

"So we need to get there and make sure your family gets to a safe place," Steve said. Clint nodded.

"Seems simple enough," Scott said.

"Getting in and out is the tricky part," Clint said. "They've tightened border security and have new helicarriers in the skies that shoot first and ask questions later. Thank you, Tony."

"Don't we still have the quinjet that we came here in? Couldn't we use that?" Bucky asked. Everyone looked at Scott, who started to turn red.

"I am never going to live that down, am I?" he groaned.

"Quinjet isn't an option," Steve said quietly. He contemplated the problem for a minute. "We could ask T'Challa for a favor and use one of their stealth planes. I'd rather keep that as a last resort, though. Royal favors… aren't always free."

"Is there a reason they couldn't just take a commercial flight out of the country?" Nyssa asked. "They don't really have a reason to keep her from traveling, do they?"

"No," Clint agreed, "but there's too many variables. I don't like the idea of her traveling with the kids alone. If something were to happen…" He shook his head, not willing to finish the thought out loud. "Plus, I'd still have to get a message to them, and Nat was my only reliable channel." The table lapsed into thoughtful silence.

"Maybe if someone could go with her?" Wanda suggested after several minutes.

"Like who?" Clint asked. "Everyone there is already being tracked. Everyone here is a wanted criminal."

"I'm not," Nyssa pointed out quietly. Everyone turned towards her in surprise. She smiled faintly. "I'm the only one here who wouldn't raise suspicion. I'm still a private citizen."

"You're not affected by the Accords?" Steve asked in surprise.

"Not officially, no." Nyssa shrugged. "Officially, I'm just a therapist from Manhattan."

"And a functional telepath," Steve countered.

"Yes, but that's hardly common knowledge," she replied. "This is honestly the first time in my life I've let people know about it. It's not necessary for most talk therapy. And until recently, most people didn't think that what I can do would even be possible. I just… don't bother to contradict their worldview."

"I can't ask you to do that," Clint said. "It could be dangerous. Nat is pretty sure they are planning something. If you go, you could be walking into a trap meant for me." Nyssa shrugged.

"Then I'll deal with it. I'll be able to tell they're coming before they get there," she pointed out. "I'll get in, we'll get out, we leave the country. Simple."

"And if it gets complicated?" Steve asked. "You said you're not much good in a fight." She shook her head and pointed her fork at him.

"I said I wasn't much use in a brawl. I fight smarter, not harder. If it comes down to it and I have to, I can handle myself. I have before." Everyone was staring at her in surprise.

"If we're going to do this, it has to be soon," Clint said. She nodded.

"I could go in the next couple days."

"Wait, aren't you still working with…?" Steve stopped as Bucky shook his head.

"We're working on the last word today," he said quietly. Nyssa nodded. Clint shook his head.

"I don't know. It still seems risky to me," he said. Nyssa shrugged.

"The offer is on the table. Let me know if you decide to take me up on it." Clint looked at her a few moments, then sighed and looked back at Steve.

"Maybe we could smuggle you in through Canada," Steve suggested. Clint snorted.

"Not sure I want to tangle with the Mounties again," he remarked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.


	10. Triumph

**Triumph**

" _грузовой вагон._ "

This time, it wasn't a wall. It was a fortress. Bucky hiked around the entire thing twice, weighing his options, noting entrances and exits. The sky overhead was an odd yellow-green and ominous. He stopped once again outside the main entrance, with massive double doors barred and locked.

"Well, this is new." He jumped as Nyssa suddenly appeared beside him. She contemplated the imposing building before them. "I don't think this is one you blow up."

"Then what do I do?" he asked. She cocked her head to the side, still looking at the stronghold.

"That depends on what's inside," she replied. Bucky swiveled his head to give her a hard look.

"Depends what's inside?" he repeated. "What  _is_  inside?" Now she looked back at him, her face somber.

"We're in your mind, Bucky," she reminded him. "There's nothing here that wasn't already a part of you." She looked back at the fortress. "From the looks of it, the most heavily guarded and protected parts."

"Protected? From who?" he asked. Nyssa gave him a wry half-smile.

"That is the question, isn't it?" She nodded at the rampart. "Places like this, sometimes they're meant to keep others out. Sometimes they're meant to keep something trapped inside." Bucky contemplated the foreboding entrance. It was barred from the outside, but he also didn't see any handles or ways to open it on this side, either.

"Sometimes both," he murmured, then raised his voice. "So how do I get in?" Nyssa spread her hands in the general direction of the doors.

"This is your playground. If anyone holds the key, it's you. But a good place to start might be… actually wanting to find out and face what's in there." Bucky gave her a look of consternation, but she met his gaze placidly. "This is it, Bucky. This is the last step in reclaiming your mind." He considered her a moment longer, then turned his attention back to the entrance. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, nodded to himself, and strode towards the doors. At his approach, the massive bars slid back, and the doors swung inward with a deep groan. He crossed the threshold, his footsteps echoing in the darkness. After a few strides, he paused, half-turning back towards the doorway, but Nyssa had vanished. Taking in a shaky breath, he peered into the gloom. He aimed the assault rifle in his hands into the dark, wondering for a moment when that had appeared before dismissing that detail as unimportant. His footsteps echoed down the empty corridor, competing in the silence with the sound of his ragged, shaky breathing and the thump of his pulse in his ears. His breath escaped in a white cloud before him, and he noticed offhandedly that the temperature had dropped considerably. The hallway was lit only by dim lights set every hundred feet or so, darkness closing in on the spaces in between. He followed the lights to a set of stairs leading down to another passageway, this time running to his left and his right. There was even less light down here, with only a single, flickering bulb at the base of the stairs. Bucky peered down one side, then the other, leading with the muzzle of his weapon. To his left was only more darkness and silence. To his right, he could hear intermittent noises that set his teeth on edge. Whimpering, moaning, soft sobbing echoed hollowly off metal walls. He edged closer to the sound, feeling drawn to it while at the same time fighting the urge to run away. The corridor ended abruptly in a door, locked and barred. He slid aside the bar, and lightly touched the lock. He jerked his hand back as the lock started to turn of its own accord. Pushing the door open, he stepped through quickly, rifle first, scanning for the source of the noise. As realization set in, he lowered the rifle, feeling as if someone had just punched him in the gut.

It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror. Before Bucky, Sergeant Barnes cowered in the corner of the bare holding cell, still dressed in WWII fatigues, hair cut short. His left arm was mostly gone, the bloody stump hanging out of the shredded remains of his sleeve. Burns and bruises distorted his features, blue eyes bright in contrast to the dusky greens and purples that darkened his skin. He stared up at Bucky with terror in his eyes. Bucky extended his hand towards the cowering man on the floor, but Barnes flinched away. Bucky stared at him for a moment, then set his weapon down and knelt down next to him.

"What do you want with me?" The panicked question was whispered and hoarse. Bucky reached out and grasped his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's time to leave this place, Bucky," he said. The other man stared at him with confusion, hope and suspicion warring for dominance of his features. Bucky smiled at him. "They can't hurt us anymore." Standing, he extended his hand to the man huddled on the floor. After a moment of hesitation, Sergeant Barnes grabbed on and stood. He staggered for a few steps, then steadied himself. Bucky picked up his assault rifle and led the way back down the hallway. Barnes trailed behind, limping. They reached the stairs, but Bucky continued on, bypassing the way out and heading down the other corridor. Behind him, Sergeant Barnes balked.

"No," he protested, clinging to the handrail leading up the stairs. "Don't go down there." Bucky stopped and half-turned back towards him.

"Why not?" he asked, though he had a suspicion he already knew the reason. Beneath the mess of burns and bruises on his face, Barnes had gone pale.

" _He's_ down there."

* * *

The left-hand corridor was longer, zig-zagging in a maze beyond several locked doors. Behind him, Sergeant Barnes' breathing was tense and ragged, but he didn't show any sign of fleeing despite the fear that hung palpably around him. His grip on the revolver in his right hand was white-knuckled, but his hand was steady. They both stopped as the hallway ended in a locked door. The two Buckys exchanged glances. Barnes swallowed and nodded.

The room beyond the door was dark and frigid. A dim light in the corner shone down on a large chair outfitted with restraints and an array of hardware suspended above it. The familiar sight made Bucky's blood run cold. Stacks of crates ringed the dark room, leaving plenty of places to hide – or wait in ambush.

"Hello?" Bucky called out. Barnes made a wordless noise of protest and ducked behind a row of crates, peering out over the top, weapon at the ready.

" _Who's there?_ " The reply from the shadows was in Russian.

"Your worst nightmare," mumbled Sergeant Barnes defiantly, though his words barely carried even in the relative silence. Bucky shot him a disapproving look.

" _Come into the light_ ," he called out. A shadow separated from the gloom, and the Winter Soldier stepped into the middle of the room, the low light gleaming off the weapon in his hands and the metal prosthetic arm. Bucky started to step towards him, but the sharp report of a revolver stopped him short. The Winter Soldier was already on the move, dodging out of the way, but the bullet sparked as it glanced off the metal arm. A moment later, his reply ricocheted off the crate next to Bucky's head. Bucky ducked down with a half-stifled oath.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed to Barnes. The short-haired man didn't look at him, but continued to peer over the crates, eyes scanning for another opportunity to get a shot off.

"Making sure that bastard doesn't ever take control again," he replied distractedly. A round explosive rolled next to them, coming to a rest by Bucky's boot. He kicked it, and both of them immediately dove away, scrambling towards the other side of the room. A hail of bullets chased them across the floor. Bucky suppressed a cry of pain as one clipped him in the side, but he kept moving. They both dove behind the crates on the other side as the bomb exploded in a fireball. A wave of intense heat blasted through the room, and shrapnel from the disintegrated crates splattered around them. Barnes cried out as a large piece lodged in his shoulder. Bucky frowned fiercely. He couldn't shake the feeling that things had suddenly gone terribly wrong. What if it wasn't the Winter Soldier who was destroyed, but Sergeant Barnes? Would he lose that part of himself? As painful as it was, the Winter Soldier was as much a part of him as the short-haired, traumatized Barnes. He had been fighting that part of himself for so long, but maybe it was time to make his peace with it.

"The Winter Soldier has never been in control," he said out loud as the realization hit him. Barnes glanced at him sharply, lowering the revolver for a moment.

"Huh?" he replied, his expression baffled. Taking the gun away, Bucky kicked both of their weapons to the center of the room. "What the hell are you doing?" Barnes yelled.

"Ending this." Bucky gave the Winter Soldier a few moments to realize that no one was still shooting at him. As the gunfire died away, Bucky stood and walked out into the light, hands up to show that they were empty. " _Stand down_ ," he called out in Russian. " _Truce_." Silence hung heavy in the room, but he was encouraged by the fact that he wasn't being shot at.

" _Truce?_ " The repeated Russian word sounded confused, as if he didn't know the meaning, or was unsure why it was being called now.

" _Yes. Truce_." Bucky switched to English. "The mission is over. There are no more missions. You are free." There was a hesitation, and then the Winter Soldier stood and slowly turned to face him.

"Free?" he breathed, the word at once disbelieving and hopeful. Bucky grinned.

"Yeah. Free." He held a hand out towards him. "So let's get out of here." The Winter Soldier took a few steps towards him, his weapon in hand but not aimed. Bucky glanced over his shoulder for a moment. Barnes was watching them apprehensively. Winter Soldier stopped half a pace away, staring watchfully for any sign of a threat. Bucky met his gaze frankly, making sure his posture was relaxed and open. The Winter Soldier's intense stare was a bit unnerving. After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, the metal arm relaxed and let his weapon fall to the floor. He nodded to Bucky, who turned and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he led the way out of the underground chamber. Barnes fell into step as they passed him, shooting the Winter Soldier a wary look.

They made their way up the stairs. The long corridor that Bucky remembered had vanished, replaced by a large, round room. They crossed to the massive double doors on the other side, but they would not open, no matter how he pushed or pulled. Frowning, he turned to scan the room for another way out, or some way to get them open. A little way down the wall, he found a lever. The Russian inscribed beside it indicated it would trigger a self-destruct sequence. He pulled it, but nothing happened. Looking around, he noticed two more identical levers placed around the room. He read through the Russian again.

"Three levers, and they all need to be pulled at the same time." Barnes and the Winter Soldier nodded understanding and quickly positioned themselves beside the other levers. As soon as they were pulled, panels lit up beside them, counting down from 10. Bucky sprinted for the door, but it still wouldn't budge. The countdown clock ticked down as if in slow motion. Barnes joined him in pushing at the door, but to no avail. The Winter Soldier stepped up on his other side. As soon as his hand joined theirs on the door, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. The three of them sprinted away from the fortress, but were knocked over by the shock wave as it exploded. Bucky tumbled and rolled through the dirt, but even after his body stopped moving, everything kept spinning around him. He caught a glimpse of the Winter Soldier, but then he seemed to vanish. Barnes whirled around him, then also disappeared. The surreal landscape was a blur as it swirled around him. He could vaguely hear someone calling his name, but it sounded very faint and far away. The yellow-green sky was growing dimmer, the trees above him swirling like shadowy claws slashing across the horizon. Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, trying to dispel the dizzying disorientation. The voice saying his name was slowly growing louder.

"Bucky… Bucky!" He opened his eyes to see Nyssa's face spinning above his. He blinked a few times, and her face – and the room around him – slowly came to a stop. Nyssa looked down at him, her expression drawn and worried. "Are you okay?" He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"I think so." He sat up slowly, then winced and put a hand to his head. "I've felt better." Nyssa nodded.

"I'm glad you made it back," she said softly. He frowned at her.

"That was in question?" he asked. She sighed.

"It didn't become apparent until you were in the thick of it, but… there were a few possible outcomes."

"Like what?" he asked, becoming more alarmed. She chewed for a moment on her bottom lip, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Let's just say we can be happy with this one," she hedged. Raising her eyebrows, she met his gaze again. "I have to say, I'm impressed. For someone who has been through as much as you have, full reintegration would certainly be… daunting. But it seems you would accept nothing less." Bucky shrugged, looking down at his feet.

"However much I might hate it, I can't change the fact that it's all a part of me. The things I did, the things that… happened… I already spent two years trying to escape it, and it still came back to haunt me. I'm done running from it."

"Which is quite admirable," Nyssa said with a nod and a smile. "Just be aware that there might be more, ah, emotional fallout over the next few days." Bucky snorted.

"What else is new? I think I can handle myself."

"Well, good, because that's exactly what you're going to be doing." Nyssa's smile turned droll. "On the upside, I think your chances of dissociative episodes is drastically decreased. Now, if you'll allow me one last test…" She reached out and lightly touched his face, her expression suddenly intent. He frowned, unsure of what she was doing until she started reciting words in Russian. The familiar panicked feeling almost made him pull away, but after a few moments he realized that this time was different. There was no sense of losing control, no ebbing away of his will, no fading sense of self. She was simply reciting random words in Russian. She finished and withdrew her hand.

"Congratulations, Bucky," she said with a broad grin. "Your mind is yours again."


	11. Despair

Steve was getting dressed in his room when the door swung open and Bucky burst through with a wide grin.

"Steve, let's go out tonight. My treat, I'm celebrating," he announced. Steve tugged his black shirt down over his flak vest.

"Buck, you don't have any money," he reminded his friend.

"Then I'll pay you back," he replied stubbornly. "I still want to celebrate."

"What are we celebrating?" Steve asked. Bucky stretched his arms out, palms up.

"I've been cleared. The Winter Soldier is no more. Or…reintegrated, or something. Nobody is going to be able to take over again."

"That's great news, Bucky!" Steve grabbed his shoulder affectionately. "I'm definitely down for a celebration. But, ah, I can't right now. We're heading out in fifteen minutes. We got a tip there's going to be a raid on one of the vibranium warehouses. We're hoping to find some evidence of who is behind these raids this time."

"Didn't Nyssa predict them after talking with Sturdy?" Bucky recalled. Steve nodded.

"We're pretty sure that's where it will lead, but T'Challa isn't too eager to declare war on Italy. We have to trace it through a few layers before we can make accusations. The rules are a little different in peacetime." Bucky shook his head.

"Fucking politics," he muttered. Steve snorted and nodded his agreement.

"Yeah, basically."

"No uniform anymore," Bucky noted. Steve shrugged.

"I'm not Captain America anymore. I'm… just one of T'Challa's goons."

"Like you would ever be just someone's goon," Bucky scoffed.

"Well, they do let me do a fair bit of planning, too," Steve admitted.

"Funny, I thought they were smarter than that," Bucky said with a smirk. Steve shot him a dirty look. "Maybe I could come with you tonight. I'm sure you could use my help." Steve considered it for a moment, but then shook his head.

"It's not really up to me. I'm sure you'd be helpful, but first you need clearance. Last time I mentioned it to the king, he felt it would be preferable if you had… both arms first." Steve glanced at the clock. "Look, I'll talk to T'Challa about it. Maybe you can come on the next one." He pointed at him as he headed out the door. "We'll be getting back late, but tomorrow, I'm all yours, I promise."

"Just don't do anything stupid before then," Bucky called after him, his smile a teasing half-grin. The door closed behind Steve, and the smile dropped instantly from Bucky's face. His shoulders sagged, and he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

* * *

Nyssa sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide. It was still pitch black outside, and her room was quiet. Taking in her breath sharply, she got out of bed and sprinted out of her room in her nightclothes, not even bothering with her robe.

"No, no, no," she whispered, the word punctuating her steps as she rushed barefoot down the hallway. As she opened the door to Bucky's room, it clinked against empty liquor bottles scattered on the floor. She frowned, slightly confused, as he didn't  _feel_ intoxicated. "Bucky," she called softly, "Are you… drunk?"

"Not even close," came the reply. He was sitting on the floor in the corner, his back against the wall. He smiled at her, but there was no humor in his expression. "They took that from me, too." Stepping over the four… no, five… empty bottles, she crossed the room and crouched down next to him.

"Give me the gun, Bucky," she said softly. He stared at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes and pulled the pistol out from behind his back where he'd hidden it when she came in. She took it from him and quickly ejected the clip and emptied the chamber. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Do you know how long it took me to load that one-handed?" he grumbled.

"Three times as long as you would have done it with two hands, and half as long as it would take a civilian?" Nyssa guessed. She rested her hand on his leg. "Bucky, what your mind is telling you right now is lies."

"Oh, so there aren't 172 people dead by my hand?" he bit out. Beneath the angry sarcasm was a forlorn note of false hope that maybe, just maybe, everything had all been a terrible nightmare. Nyssa's eyes shone with sympathetic tears.

"Unfortunately, no, that part is true," she whispered. "And that is a heavy burden for anyone to bear, but killing yourself will not bring them back. I'm talking about the part that is telling you you're worthless and will always only be a killer. The part that says you're irredeemable. The part that says it will always feel this terrible. The part that says that killing yourself is the answer." Bucky stared down at the floor, not meeting her eyes.

"Don't have any better answers," he mumbled.

"You will. You don't have to have it all figured out tonight, or tomorrow, or even this year. If you end it all now, then Hydra's legacy is yours – death, chaos and destruction. But your life is yours now, Bucky. From now on, you decide what you're going to leave behind. You decide how your story is going to go. You decide who you are now. After everything you've been through, everything you've done to reclaim yourself, please… don't give up now. Grieve those you killed. It honors them, and it will help you move forward. Let the dead remain in their graves. There is no need for you to join them yet. You mean to save others the burden of having you around, but that is a lie too. If you end it, you will be the cause of the pain you mean to spare them." Bucky sighed and shook his head.

"Steve doesn't even need me now," he said mournfully.

"He hasn't needed you to protect him for a long time, it's true," she conceded. "But there are things more important than protection that nobody else can give him. You know how much he gave up for you." Bucky closed his eyes and nodded, adding yet another item to the mental pile of debt upon his spirit. "That's not something to feel responsible for. It's simply a measure of how much he values you. Which might be a better measure for you than how you were treated by Hydra." He looked back up at her. "I know you feel broken right now. You've been through hells that would destroy anyone, and you endured it for so long. Do you know how strong, how resilient a person has to be to go through something like that and still be… even marginally intact? They never did break you completely." Bucky eyed her doubtfully but remained silent. She took a deep breath. "I know there's nothing I can say that would change your mind right now, but maybe you could let me show you?" She held her hand out towards his. He looked at her for a long, long moment. She met his gaze patiently. Looking away, he sighed, then put his hand in hers. He was somewhat surprised when she turned his hand palm-inwards and pressed it into his chest. He could feel his heart pounding into his palm, while her hands were warm and soothing on the back of his hand.

"Close your eyes," she whispered, and he obeyed. At first, he saw nothing more than darkness, but he could feel her pulling his attention inward. The darkness gave way to a flickering light in the distance, almost like a candle, but it quickly grew larger as it drew closer. The white glow was obscured by dark shadows shifting across its surface. Some of them were so dark and thick, the light seemed to almost completely disappear, sucked away into a black hole. Bucky frowned.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Pick whatever term you feel comfortable with," she replied. "Your soul, your spirit, your essence… this is you, Bucky." He watched the dance of darkness across the light with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Is this supposed to make me feel better, to show me the evil inside me?" he asked.

"Oh, no, that isn't evil." Her voice had an odd catch in it, and she paused. When she spoke again, he could hear the sorrow in her voice. "That's pain, Bucky. It affects you, but it isn't you. Push past it." He hesitated a moment, drawing closer to the shadows that obscured the light. As he passed through them, he could feel shame, guilt and grief pressing in on him, making it hard to breathe. Then he emerged on the other side, and the weight lifted from him. The bright light was almost blinding, but he stared into it as if hypnotized. "You are stronger than what they did to you. Your past doesn't have to define you. You have had to face great evil, Bucky, but there is still good in you." He opened his eyes and stared at her tear-streaked face, inches from his. She reached out and cupped his face in gentle hands. "You didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve any of it." He wasn't sure whether it her words or the gesture of comfort, but he felt the tide of his emotions rising, threatening to sweep him away with them. The dam that had been so carefully maintained for so long began to crack and crumble. He found himself clinging to her like a life preserver as he wept, tears of shame and regret commingling with grief and rage. Her arms circled around him, keeping him safe in the storm, and he was surprised at their strength despite her size. Finally, the tempest subsided, leaving him drained and empty, the intense maelstrom of emotion replaced only by exhaustion.

Nyssa continued to hold him after his arm around her grew slack and his ragged gasps became deep and regular. Her arms tightened around him as she closed her eyes and let her own tears flow. Drawing in a deep breath, she slowly lowered him down to the floor. Moving silently, she covered him with a blanket from the bed, then knelt down by his head. His sleep was starting to become restless, but she rested her hand lightly on his face.

"No nightmares tonight," she whispered, sending him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or anyone you care about is contemplating suicide, please get help. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline in the US is 1-800-273-8255. Many areas also have local crisis lines. If you'd rather text, text HOME to 741741. If someone's life is in imminent danger, call 911 or go to the emergency room. Your life is worth it. It does get better.


	12. Equilibrium

The sun was shining in the window when a knock on the door startled Bucky awake. He blinked in disbelief at the clock and quickly took stock of his surroundings. The floor near his head was still warm, as if someone had recently vacated the spot. He realized he actually felt rested for the first time in a very long time. He pushed the blanket back as the door opened and Steve came in. He looked a little surprised to see Bucky just getting up. Bucky stood and stretched, leaning briefly against the wall. Steve raised his eyebrows at him.

"Stayed up late celebrating, huh?" he asked. Bucky glanced around, but the liquor bottles had vanished from the floor.

"Something like that, I guess," he said absently, grabbing a shirt out of the dresser and pulling it over his head. Opening the top drawer, he suppressed an oath as he found a note in the place of the small arsenal he'd hidden there, promising his items would be returned when he was feeling better. Quickly, he checked under the corner of the mattress, in the nightstand, and even under the sink in the bathroom. He wasn't sure if he was more annoyed that she'd taken them, or impressed that she had found them all. He splashed some water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

"Everything okay?" Steve asked.

"Fine," Bucky replied, keeping his tone light. He turned to give Steve his full attention. "How did the mission go?"

"Not as well as I'd hoped," Steve admitted. "They didn't get away with any of the cargo they came for, but we didn't manage to take anyone alive for questioning. But all of us came back in one piece, so I guess I'll take it as a win." He gestured to the blanket still in a heap on the floor. "I haven't tried that yet. Does it help on those nights when the bed seems too soft to sleep in?"

"Sometimes." Bucky shrugged. "What's the plan for the day?"

"You tell me. This is your celebration," Steve reminded him.

"In that case, some breakfast would be a nice start," he said, heading for the door. Steve snorted.

"You do realize it's after noon, right?" he pointed out. Bucky opened the door and half-turned back to face him.

"So?" he challenged. "You said it's my day. I want breakfast." Steve chuckled and followed him out the door.

"Fair enough," he said. "Breakfast it is."

* * *

Breakfast turned into a trip down into the city, where Steve showed Bucky some of the highlights he'd discovered in the months he'd been staying in the palace. The town square was a colorful place, with the twice-weekly open air market filling it with stalls and cries of vendors hawking their handcrafted and homemade goods. It had a different energy than the market in Bucharest, with the vendors calling to the passers-by, as well as hurling good-natured insults to the other shopkeepers around them. As they were obviously not local, Steve and Bucky found themselves attracting a lot of attention, with each merchant encouraging them to come and spend their money there. Steve happily translated for Bucky, the two of them chuckling at the witty banter and friendly ribbing swirling around them. Steve pulled him over to a booth selling some kind of meat on a stick and bought one for each of them. He bit into his enthusiastically. Bucky took his first bite, wondering why both Steve and the vendors nearby were watching him intently. He figured out why a few moments later, as his mouth was suddenly on fire. He coughed a little at the unexpected heat, blinking at Steve as his eyes started to water. Steve grinned at him.

"It's sort of been a rite of passage for all of us when we first got here," he said, then leaned in closer. "We didn't get a warning, either." The heat was growing more intense by the moment. Bucky managed to swallow his mouthful and took a deep breath.

"Holy shit," he commented, fanning his mouth. "Is there anything to drink?"

"Yes," Steve said, holding up a bottle tantalizingly, but pulling it away as Bucky grabbed for it. "But you have to finish that first." Bucky frowned at him.

"Seriously?" he asked. Steve shrugged, still grinning.

"It's not my rule." Bucky glanced around to see most of the nearby merchants – as well as a few passersby – watching him intently. Most of them were grinning broadly.

"So that's how it is, huh?" Squaring his shoulders, Bucky quickly finished the rest of it, trying to ignore how the fire was slowly spreading through his sinuses. He raised his fist in victory as everyone erupted in cheers around him, then grabbed the bottle from Steve and chugged its contents in seconds. He barely tasted it, but it did cool the fire in his mouth to a more tolerable level. He shook his head at Steve, who had pink cheeks but otherwise seemed unbothered.

"How are you handling that so well?" he asked. "My mother's barbecue sauce used to be too spicy for you." Steve smirked at him.

"I guess I've expanded my palate since then. I've actually acquired a taste for it," he replied. Bucky shook his head again.

"Remind me not to let you pick the food for me again," he said over his shoulder as he continued on, scanning the stalls as he passed them. He paused in front of a booth with handcrafted jewelry and picked up a teardrop-shaped pendant. At first glance, the stone appeared silvery-grey, but as the light caught it, he could see flashes of purple, green and blue.

"One of those bright blue ones would bring your eyes out more," Steve teased from behind him. Bucky rolled his blue eyes.

"You're hilarious. I'm thinking of maybe getting something as a thank you. I dunno, does this say 'Thanks for putting my brain back together' to you?" Steve chuckled.

"You're asking me about gifts? For a woman?" he asked seriously.

"Yeah, punk, for a thank you. I'm not trying to romance her," Bucky replied archly. Steve raised his eyebrows.

"Are you sure about that?" Bucky shot him a withering look, and he held his hands up in surrender. "Just a question." Bucky shook his head and slowly lowered the necklace back onto the display. He scanned the area, and gestured to a sign that caught his eye.

"What does that sign say?" he asked Steve frowned in that direction.

"Looks like there's a live show starting in about 20 minutes," he said.

"What kind of show?" Bucky asked. Steve smiled and gestured in that direction.

"Let's find out."

* * *

Nyssa opened her door to see Clint standing in the hall.

"That offer still good?" he asked. Nodding, she stepped out of the way and gestured for him to come in.

* * *

Steve held up two fingers to the bartender as they walked into the city's most popular attraction after dark. The bar was on the main floor, with a stage and dance floor in the basement. Bass-heavy strains of music drifted up from the live band downstairs, making the floor beneath their feet vibrate. The bartender nodded to them, smiling in recognition at Steve as she slid two drinks across the bar to them. Steve raised his glass in a toast to Bucky.

"To being back in the driver's seat," he declared with a smile, clinking his glass against his friend's. Bucky smiled lopsidedly.

"To the friends that got me back there," he countered softly. Steve's grin softened.

"It's good to have you back, Bucky," he said.

"Good to be back," Bucky replied. He took a drink and set it down on the bar. "So, how long are you planning on staying in Wakanda?" Steve shifted in his chair, suddenly very intent on his glass on the bar.

"Well, I signed a three-year contract with the king, so I guess at least a couple more years," he admitted. Bucky frowned.

"A contract? Why would you sign a contract?"

"It was a trade." Steve was still not looking at him.

"A trade," Bucky repeated. "A trade for what, Steve?" He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew, but he wanted to make him say it.

"For you." Steve finally looked at him, frank and unashamed. "Your housing, treatment, whatever you need until you're back on your feet. A new arm, whenever you decide you want that."

"Jesus, Steve. You traded three years of your life for – "

"Yeah, and I'd do it again in a second," Steve cut him off. "I'd have traded more, if that's what it took. You deserve your second chance, Buck." Bucky sighed heavily.

"You know, at some point you're going to run out of other people to live your life for," he said quietly, taking a sip.

"Probably," Steve shot back, "but I have at least two more years before I have to worry about that." Bucky shook his head and finished his drink, then stared contemplatively down into it.

"Maybe it is about time I think about getting a new arm, now that I don't have to worry about the Winter Soldier taking over anymore."

"All right." Steve pushed himself back from the bar and stood up. Bucky made a face at him.

"Not right this instant, you punk. Sit back down. Have another drink." Steve sat down sheepishly,

"Fine, jerk. I'll talk to T'Challa tomorrow." He settled back into his seat. The bartender served them another round, and Steve picked up his glass. "This stuff doesn't really do anything for me anymore."

"Me either," Bucky replied, taking a long draught of his. "Still like the taste, though." Steve grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Must not be Old Grand-Dad, then," he said slyly. Bucky groaned.

"Ugh, I was hoping you'd forgotten that night." Steve shook his head.

" _I_ don't forget anything. That was a memorable night. You didn't usually let yourself get to that point, but you'd never tried anything stronger than beer before. You got so drunk you could barely walk."

"Yeah, I remember," Bucky said sourly. Steve looked surprised.

"Really? Because you didn't remember that night even the next day."

"Apparently getting all my memories back includes those." He frowned, staring off into space. "You disappeared for awhile that night. Where did you go?" Steve chuckled.

"Doing reconnaissance. I wasn't sure you were going to be able to walk home, so I was coming up with a plan if you couldn't." Bucky glanced at him in surprise.

"And did you come up with one?" he asked.

"Well, they had a sled…" Steve admitted. Bucky laughed.

"You were going to pull me home on a sled? In July?" he asked incredulously.

"That was the plan. Thankfully, you managed to walk. Talking you up the steps took awhile, though."

"Yeah," Bucky shook his head. "That shit ought to come with a warning label." Steve grinned.

"Nowadays, it does."

* * *

It was midmorning when Bucky knocked on Nyssa's door the next day.

"Come in," she called. He crossed the living room and paused in the doorway to the bedroom.

"Nyssa, I-" Bucky started, then stopped short at the sight of her methodically packing her neatly folded clothes into the suitcase lying open on the bed. "Are you… leaving?" he asked. She glanced at him, but didn't quite meet his eyes.

"We're moving forward with the plan. I should be back here with the Bartons in a few days," she replied.

"Are you sure that's the best option?" he asked. "I can think of about fourteen different ways things could go wrong."

"I can handle myself, Bucky," she said quietly. "Clint and Steve agree with me. Believe it or not, I'm more capable than I look." She turned and grabbed a box from the nightstand. "This is yours." She started to hand it to him, but didn't let it go right away. He raised his eyebrows at her. She gave him a significant look. He gave her his best reassuring smile.

"I'm feeling much better today," he said quietly. She met his eyes searchingly for a moment, then nodded her head once and released the box. He opened the top to check the contents as soon as she had her back turned.

"Everything's in there," she said as she resumed packing. Bucky snapped the lid shut, feeling as if he'd gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "There's also a few business cards for therapists I commonly refer clients to. They all specialize in trauma, particularly with veterans and prisoners of war. Unfortunately, I don't have any local contacts, so I think the closest one is probably, ah… Germany. Most of them are in the States. Whatever you decide, I do want to strongly encourage you to continue with therapy. I came here to help you break free from Hydra's programming, and that's done. But you've been through a lot of trauma, and you don't heal from that in less than a month of therapy." Bucky frowned.

"Wait a minute. Don't you do this kind of therapy, too?" he asked. Nyssa stopped her constant motion, resting her hands on the edge of the bed.

"I do. In this case, though… In certain cases, it is better to refer a client elsewhere, when one has… lost perspective, lost objectivity. In my professional assessment, I feel it would be in your better interest to resume therapy with another qualified therapist." She wasn't quite meeting his eyes, and he got the distinct impression that she was upset, though he hadn't the faintest idea why.

"Okay." He took a breath. "Did, ah… did I do something to upset you?" Now she did meet his eyes, and she seemed startled by the question.

"No, no… not at all. I just think it's for the best." Silence stretched between them uncomfortably, until Bucky looked away, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"I guess I'll let you finish packing." He turned to leave. With his back to her, he didn't see her take a step in his direction, hand raised and mouth open, though she made no noise. Her mouth snapped shut as the door closed behind him. With a heavy sigh, she grabbed a pair of socks and threw them as hard as she could into the suitcase.


	13. What We Deserve

Sam stopped in surprise in the doorway to the shed. Bucky was already there, working on removing rusted-out body panels on the Alfa Romeo, his face set in a scowl of concentration.

"Damn, dude," Sam exclaimed. "How long have you been at this?" Bucky glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Couple hours," he said, barely glancing at Sam before returning his attention to the car. He gripped the middle of a rusty body panel and tore it out with a gloved hand, metal screeching in protest. Sam's eyes widened slightly.

"Something on your mind?" he asked.

"No, why?" Bucky kept his eyes on the car. Sam didn't buy it, but he wasn't about to push it. Shrugging mentally, he sauntered into the shed, surveying Bucky's progress.

"No reason." He eyed the pile of rusty metal stacked in the corner. "I've got a shipment of parts for the car coming in this afternoon. I could use a hand going to pick them up." He was expecting a sarcastic response from Bucky, but got no response at all. He turned with a frown to see the other man standing frozen, back straight, hand gripping the stripped frame of the car so hard it was bending, eyes closed, face set in a grimace. Sam watched him warily, ready to bolt if the situation went south. "Barnes?" He moved closer, but got no response. "Come on man, snap out of it." He snapped his fingers rapidly in Bucky's face, but the other man remained a statue. The seconds stretched into minutes, with Sam contemplating if he should leave to warn the others or stay and see what was going on. Finally, Bucky let out a long, shuddering breath ending in a barely audible oath, blinking his eyes open. Sam was still watching him carefully. "What was that? You aren't about to go all Winter Soldier on me again, are you?" Bucky shook his head.

"She warned me those might still happen," he mused, not answering Sam's question directly.

"What, a flashback?" Sam's tone softened. Bucky frowned at him.

"Something like that," he said. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Did you say something about parts for the car?"

* * *

After spending so long in isolation, Wakanda's main aircraft belonged to the army and the king. With recent efforts to join the international community, a small commercial airport had been added on the outskirts of the city. It was a bit more than walking distance from the palace, especially with luggage thrown into the equation. There was a small, twin-engine plane that would take Nyssa to Italy, where the plan was for her to catch a commercial flight to the US. Clint finished loading her luggage into the car and got into the driver's seat, while Nyssa finished saying goodbye to those who had come to see her off.

"I'll be back in just a few days," she reminded Wanda as the other woman hugged her sorrowfully. "It's not forever."

"I know," Wanda acknowledged. "That doesn't mean I can't miss you."

"True," Nyssa agreed, returning the hug. "Take care while I'm gone. Practice what we discussed." Wanda nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright. She stepped back, and Scott stepped up to Nyssa, a small package in hand.

"If it isn't too much trouble, do you think you could drop this in the mail once you get stateside?" he asked hesitantly. She took the box with a smile.

"I'll make sure your daughter gets it," she promised him solemnly, tucking it into her carry-on next to Wanda's letter.

"Thanks," he said. She turned to Steve, at the end of the line, and was suddenly folded into a tight hug.

"Thank you," he said, "for everything."

"I'm just glad I could help," she responded quietly.

"Any advice?" he asked.

"For you, or for him?" she replied, one corner of her mouth turning up.

"You know what I mean," Steve replied.

"I hardly need to give you advice on how to be a good friend to Bucky Barnes," she said, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. "Just… maybe don't let him spend too much time alone. He needs his friends more than he'll admit." Steve nodded thoughtfully.

"Thanks."

"Plane leaves in 45 minutes!" Clint called out the window. Nyssa waved at him and nodded to Steve.

"Guess that means I better hurry. See you in a few days." She got in the car with Clint, who noticed her last glance around as if she were waiting for someone.

"Ready to go?" he asked. She nodded.

"All set." Clint started driving, and she settled back into her seat, watching the lush green scenery as it flew by.

"Thanks again for doing this," Clint said. Nyssa made a dismissive gesture.

"I've seen too many families torn apart. If I can do something to help one stay together, I'm happy to." Clint nodded and set a phone down on the console between them.

"If you need to… if things go south, don't hesitate to call. I talked to the king. You do have backup, if everything goes to hell." Nyssa nodded.

"I appreciate that, but isn't the point of this that it's safer for me to be stateside than all of you?" Clint shrugged.

"There are some things worth getting arrested for," he replied. "In prison is still better than dead."

* * *

"I'm kinda surprised you didn't want to see her off," Sam said, slowly lowering the heavy box he was carrying to the floor. Bucky set his package down on top of it.

"I talked with her earlier," he said nonchalantly, then paused. "I'm not really sure she wants to see me again." Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why do you say that?" he asked. Bucky shrugged.

"She gave me some cards for other therapists. Said it would be best if she didn't work with me anymore. Something about losing… perspective and objectivity." Sam gave him a surprised look, followed by a chuckle.

"You're not used to career girls, are you?" he asked, shaking his head. Bucky frowned at him.

"Not civilian ones, no…"

"See, she's your therapist – "

"Was my therapist," Bucky interrupted.

"Fine, was your therapist. And therapists aren't supposed to get involved with clients. If she's talking about losing perspective, my guess is she referred you because she has feelings for you. She's the opposite of mad." Bucky scoffed, waiting for Sam to follow that up with a punchline, but the other man just looked at him levelly.

"So why didn't she just say that?" he grumbled, half to himself.

"Things get a little more complicated when you're messing with professional and personal boundaries," Sam answered him. "This is one case where it's probably better to leave it alone." Bucky glanced at the clock on the wall with a scowl.

"Considering her plane left half an hour ago, it's too late anyway."

* * *

It was 2am by the time Nyssa's plane touched down in Chicago. After collecting her luggage, she stopped to drop letters and packages in the mail and get some coffee before heading over to the car rental desk. She hadn't slept since leaving Italy. She had never been able to sleep on planes. It was difficult to block out everyone else at such close proximity while sleeping, and she didn't particularly care for the bizarre dreams stemming from the random thoughts of a hundred strangers. Clutching her coffee, she was in line when her heart sank with the familiar feeling that she had suddenly drawn someone's attention. Taking a sip of her coffee, she stared at the floor, hoping whoever it was would dismiss her and move on. Instead, the presence drew closer. She sucked her breath in as she recognized who it was.

"Dr. Taylor, wasn't it?" Sturdy said from behind her. She did not respond until he tapped her on the shoulder, then turned to face him, her face appropriately confused.

"Were you talking to me?" she asked.

"You don't remember me,  _Signora_?" he asked. She frowned and shook her head.

"You must have me confused with someone else," she said, adding extra  _push_  to her words in an attempt to convince him. He frowned at her, and her stomach knotted as she realized that he was not susceptible at this distance.

"I don't think I would forget the woman responsible for my reception in Wakanda growing cold," he growled. "What did you do?" She shook her head at him.

"If your visit to Wakanda ended badly, perhaps you should look to your own diplomatic skills rather than blaming someone else," she suggested. He growled and stepped forward, grabbing ahold of her shirt.

"The king was eating out of my hand before he introduced me to you," he snarled, jerking her closer to him.

"I think you overestimate yourself," she said quietly, placing one hand on his chest. "Now let go of me before I call airport security, Professor." With the physical contact, the mental push was more effective, and he dropped her immediately and stared at her for a moment before he turned and disappeared into the crowds.

* * *

It was a little strange, waking up the next morning and realizing he didn't have a session to go to. He thought about going to work on the car, but was feeling a little restless. After a shower, he went out, prowling through the palace. The top of the building held the palace gardens, and he paused a moment, taking it all in, before strolling through the rows of exotic flowers. Their scent hung heavy in the air, and he was reminded of the day he'd spent with Nyssa in the jungle. He wondered wistfully if everything was going to remind him of her, now.

He turned a corner and stopped short as he spotted Wanda sitting on a bench, a water feature trickling down a stone wall and running into a small pool behind her. Letters were scattered on the bench in front of her. She looked up as he came closer. He held his hand up and took a couple steps back.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to intrude," he said, turning to leave.

"You're not intruding," she replied softly. "You have as much right to be here as I do." Moving her letters aside, she patted the bench in invitation. He hesitated, then sat down next to her.

"Letters from home?" he asked, nodding to the papers.

"Letters from Vision," she corrected him, looking down at them. "I haven't really found a home yet." He nodded. He knew that feeling.

"So he's forgiven you for the fight at the airport?" he asked, feeling a twinge of guilt. Here was yet another person who had sacrificed in his name and suffered for it. Wanda nodded.

"He still doesn't agree with me, but he isn't holding it against me." She smiled softly. "So now we're sending secret letters back and forth. He actually taught himself to write by hand so that he could do it. It's pretty romantic."

"Can't be easy, though," Bucky pointed out. She shook her head.

"No, but worth it, I think." She looked at him directly. "Hydra designed me to be a weapon. To find someone who sees me as a person instead… That is someone worth holding on to, don't you think?" Bucky nodded, looking down at the flowers hanging down into the water.

"I think I have a ways to go before I deserve someone like that," he replied. Wanda raised her eyebrows at him.

"Depending who you ask, I deserve to be locked up and have the key thrown away," she pointed out. "Instead, I'm in this tropical paradise, writing love letters to a life form this planet has never seen before. We don't always get what we deserve. We get what we're willing to ask for, what we're willing to accept." She gave him a little knowing smile. "At least where matters of the heart are concerned." Bucky chewed on his lower lip as he mulled her words over, staring down at his feet.

"I'm sorry for the way things turned out," he said, changing the subject. "It seems like everyone sacrificed so much… for nothing." Wanda looked at him carefully.

"You don't get to take responsibility for my choices, you know. Only I can do that." He glanced at her in surprise.

"You sound like you've been talking with Ny – with Dr. Taylor," he noted. Wanda smiled.

"She does have a lot of wisdom," she noted. "But you don't have to have special powers to see how guilty you feel, Bucky, even about things that aren't your fault." Bucky sighed.

"There are plenty of things that are, so…" He shrugged.

"I've done terrible things, too," she responded softly. "Many things that I regret. But I realized, I can live in that regret, wallow in it, or I can move on and try to do better. Maybe that tips the scales back to the right side. I can't change what I've already done, but I can change what I do next." Bucky looked over at her thoughtfully, and she smiled at him.


	14. The Bartons

"Kids, supper!" Laura called up the stairs before setting the bowl of mashed potatoes down on the table and going back into the kitchen to check on the meatloaf.

"Need me to set the table, Mom? Animals are all fed." Cooper popped into the kitchen, startling her. She could hear Lila's footsteps on the stairs, but hadn't heard him come in.

"I think it's your sister's turn," she reminded him. "But thanks for offering. You can make sure Nate is in his chair. Here, Lila." She handed her daughter a stack of plates for the table. The knock on the door surprised her, and she frowned towards it. "Guys, finish setting the table, I'll be right back." Moving as quietly as she could, she peeked through the curtains in the living room to see a slight woman with dark hair standing out on the porch. Frowning, she hesitantly opened the door.

"Laura Barton?" the woman asked, although her tone made it more greeting than question. She extended a gloved hand. "My name is Dr. Nyssa Taylor. Your husband sent me." Laura stared at her, unsure of the implications. The woman fished something out of her pocket and held it out towards her. "He gave me this, to let you know that you can trust me." Laura reached for it, and felt her heart skip a beat when the woman dropped Clint's wedding ring in her hand. Her fingers quickly closed around it.

"Is Clint okay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Dr. Taylor nodded reassuringly.

"He's fine. Unfortunately, it may no longer be safe for your family to stay here. I'm here to take all of you to him until he can find another safe place for you to stay."

"We have to leave? Right now?" Her head started spinning as she started making mental arrangements for everything.  _The Watsons could feed the animals, maybe, and the kids have to get everything packed, can't forget Lila's antibiotics or Cooper's retainer, what are we going to do? How long will we be gone? Is this forever? What does it mean that we're not safe? What am I going to tell the kids? How do I tell them we have to leave the only home they've ever known?_ Dr. Taylor clasped her hand with a small smile, and the panic slowly started to fade.

"You can pack tonight, we can leave in the morning. Hopefully just for an extended vacation." Laura nodded, took a deep breath and stepped aside to let the woman into her home.

"Lila, set another place at the table. We have a guest for dinner!" she called.

* * *

Dinner started out subdued, but once Nyssa explained why she had come and that they would be going to meet their father, the children perked up. They didn't seem fazed by having to leave the farm. Upon hearing that they were going to go see Daddy, Nathaniel immediately dove away from the table and sprinted for the door as fast as his two-year-old legs could carry him. Apologizing, Laura got up to go chase him down.

"Why isn't Natasha bringing us?" Cooper asked suspiciously. Lila kicked him under the table. "Ow, what?"

"It's Auntie Nat, stupidhead," she scolded him.

"You know she isn't really our aunt, right?" he shot back. "It's not like she's really Dad's sister." Lila stuck her tongue out at him. Nyssa watched the exchange with amusement, but then Cooper turned his attention back to her.

"So?" he asked. "Why did Dad send you instead of her?"

"Natasha is being watched closely, and he doesn't want to draw any more attention to you or to where he is," she explained honestly. "I'm not one of the Avengers, so they aren't looking for me." He stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay. That makes sense," he decided. Laura returned, slightly out of breath, carrying a crying Nate back to the table. She deposited him into his chair before maneuvering her growing belly around the table and back to her place, where she sat down with a sigh.

"I wanna see Daddy!" Nate sobbed.

"He's not here right now, Nate," Lila said, patting his back. "She's going to take us to where he is. So you have to be good about going to bed tonight, and then tomorrow, we'll get to see him. Right?" She looked hopefully at Nyssa for confirmation.

"It might take a little longer than that," Nyssa said. "We'll have a long drive, then a long flight after that. It will be an adventure. It's a quest to find your father!" Even Cooper brightened visibly at this perspective, and Laura smiled in gratitude across the table at her. The rest of the meal was discussion of what they wanted to bring and questions about what it was like where Clint was. As plates emptied, Nyssa cleared them and brought them to the sink.

"I'll clean up, if you guys want to start packing," she suggested. Laura herded the kids upstairs, leaving Nyssa to finish clearing the table. She filled the dishpan with hot, soapy water, looking out the kitchen window as she washed the dishes. An evening breeze rippled through the hayfield, carrying with it the scent of timothy and clover. The sun was creeping closer to the horizon, just beginning to touch the top of the weathervane on the barn. Nyssa heard quiet steps behind her and didn't turn around as Cooper snuck past her, then sprinted towards the barn. She leaned forward, her eyes following him as he pulled something out from under a bale of hay. Glancing nervously towards the house, he tucked the bow under one arm and pulled the quiver of arrows over his shoulder before disappearing behind the barn.

The noises from upstairs gradually quieted, as the sun dropped out of view, leaving behind the swollen waxing moon, a chorus of crickets and the silent sparkle of fireflies. Laura came back downstairs, her expression contemplative after tucking in her two youngest and kissing them goodnight. Cooper had decided he was too old for such things in the past year. He was growing up so fast. They all were. Taking a deep breath, she looked around the sparkling clean kitchen, feeling suddenly both sad and nostalgic. Would she ever see this kitchen again?

"Your oldest is still out behind the barn," Nyssa said quietly from the couch. Laura sighed and went to sit down next to their unexpected visitor.

"He's probably practicing with that old bow of Clint's that he found a few months ago. He spends every spare moment he has out there." She half-smiled. "He thinks I don't know what he's doing. I think it helps him feel closer to his dad." Nyssa nodded, and leaned forward, frowning as she turned her head to look out the window.

"He may have the right idea. Do you have any weapons in the house?" she asked. Laura's eyes widened as she swiveled her head towards the smaller woman.

"A few, secured in a locker upstairs. Why, do you think we're going to need them?" she asked.

"I hope not, but… better prepared than dead," Nyssa replied. Laura paled, then swallowed and nodded.

"Maybe I should get Cooper back in the house," she said in a strained voice. Nyssa nodded.

"Tonight might be a good time to let him know you know about the bow and that he doesn't have to keep it in the barn anymore," she suggested. Laura gave her a sharp look, and Nyssa shrugged. "Luck favors the prepared and all that."

After getting all the suitcases moved into the van, Nyssa quickly went through the weapons Laura had brought downstairs, making sure theywere loaded and ready. She had selected the Glock 17 9mm for its capacity, the Sig Sauer P320 45 ACP for heavy impact, and a Springfield XD for backup. Laura seemed partial to a Marlin 336C hunting rifle, and while it wouldn't have been Nyssa's choice, the best firearm was one you were comfortable using. It also seemed Clint liked to experiment with his gun ammunition the same way he did with his arrows. Nyssa was particularly impressed with the diamond-tipped .45 armor-piercing rounds, and intrigued by the 9mm explosive rounds, despite the many warnings on the packaging not to jostle, throw or crunch them. There were also a precious two fist-sized explosives, cradled in a mostly-empty case and stashed in the back of Clint's home armory. Upstairs, the children were all sleeping, though Laura was still tossing and turning fitfully. Nyssa was tempted to stay up, but also didn't want to face the journey ahead of them on no sleep. Trusting her senses to alert her if anyone came around, she lay down on the couch and closed her eyes.

* * *

It seemed like minutes later when her eyes popped open, but the clock on the mantle said it had been five hours. She sat up abruptly and listened for a moment. There was no sign of anyone outside yet, but she could feel someone – actually, a dozen someones - approaching with ill intent. She estimated they were only a few miles away. Sprinting up the stairs, she found Laura's room and shook her awake.

"Timetable's been moved up. We need to leave… now," she said tersely. Laura struggled out of bed and went to wake the kids while Nyssa went back downstairs. A surge of panic brought her attention back to the second floor. Nyssa started back towards the stairs. Laura appeared at the top, eyes wide in a pale face.

"I can't find Nate. He's not in his bed," she said. Lila peered out from behind her mother, wearing a nightshirt with spiders printed on it, eyes still sleepy. Nyssa closed her eyes for a moment, widening her senses until she found him.

"He's in the barn," she said grimly. "I can go get him, but we're running out of time."

"Lila, go get dressed, quick!" Laura shooed her daughter towards her room as she went to change clothes herself. "Cooper, get moving!" Nyssa headed for the side door to get Nate from the barn, but froze as two vehicles with government plates pulled up by the house. One was an armored transport, the eight men inside tense and ready for a fight. She swore and went back to the living room, picking up a gun in each hand as Laura came back downstairs.

"Change in plans," Nyssa said grimly. "They're here. We're either going to have to talk our way out of it, or it's going to be a fight."

"I'll talk to them," Laura said shakily. "Maybe they just want to ask some questions."

"It's three in the morning," Nyssa pointed out. "I doubt they are stopping by for coffee and a chat." Laura grabbed the Marlin rifle and headed for the door.

"This is my home," she replied. "I'm not going down without a fight." Nyssa met her eyes, then nodded. Lila came down the stairs, clutching a red-haired doll.

"Lila, go hide in the safe room Daddy built downstairs," Laura directed. "I'll come and find you when it's safe to come out, okay?" Lila nodded and ran off. Laura strode out the door, rifle in hand. The men outside stopped talking as she appeared, half of them outfitted in flak jackets and helmets, the other half dressed in uniforms. One of them wore only a suit and tie, and he approached the bottom of the porch steps.

"Mrs. Barton, is your husband home?" he inquired. Laura adjusted her grip on her weapon.

"No, he hasn't been around. Not since the last time you guys chased him out of the country," she replied. "What do y'all want, coming to my home this time of night?"

"I'll ask the questions, Mrs. Barton," the man replied. "If he isn't here, who does that van belong to? We both know it isn't yours." He gestured to the van sitting ready to go.

"My cousin came for a visit," Laura replied blandly. "Not that it's any of your business."

"I'm afraid it is my business," he informed her. "I'm also afraid that you're going to have to come with us. Your children and your cousin, too."

* * *

While they were talking, a pair of men in flak jackets edged around the house and charged in through the side door. Nyssa was waiting for them on the other side, sleeve pushed back. One of them grabbed her arms to drag her back outside the house, and she let herself go limp. He stumbled and adjusted his grip, caught off guard by the sudden dead weight, and called for the other man to help. The second man grabbed her other arm. Then both of them dropped to the floor, unconscious. Nyssa slid out from underneath them and kicked the door shut, sliding the lock closed as a deterrent for the ones coming behind. Grabbing the handcuffs from the belt of one of the sleeping men, she quickly handcuffed them together. Closing her eyes, she touched the face of one, searching to find their plans and intentions. She then dove around the corner seconds before the glass on the door shattered in a hail of bullets.

* * *

"We're not going with you anywhere," Laura informed the man in the suit. "We aren't under arrest. We've done nothing wrong." The man chuckled.

"I don't think you're understanding me, Mrs. Barton," he drawled. "You seem to be under the impression that was a request. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, but either way, you are coming with us." Laura jumped slightly as she heard shots from inside the house behind her, and a handful of the troops ran around the side with weapons drawn.

"I've known men like you," she told the man in the suit. "Men who can't take no for an answer. Usually it's just a matter of finding a language you can understand." She leveled the rifle at him, aiming for his purple-pinstriped tie. "We're not going anywhere with you. Leave me and my children alone."

"Mrs. Barton, this is not a negotiation…" He unbuttoned his suit jacket and laid one hand on the handgun that had been concealed beneath it. "Your husband is a dangerous criminal. Either you cooperate with us, or we will forcibly take you into custody. If you resist, then you may be made an example of." Laura's eyes widened.

"That doesn't sound legal," she said. The man in the suit seemed unbothered.

"These are special circumstances," he noted. "I have been given wide latitude to try to catch the rogue Avengers any way I see fit. And I think you'll find it is much more difficult to contest the legality of things when you are -" There was the sharp crack of Laura's rifle, and he broke off abruptly as he jerked backwards, then stared down at the holes torn in his shirt and tie, burrowing through to the Kevlar vest underneath. Laura blinked, surprised that he was still standing after taking a direct hit. He sneered and pointed his gun at her face. "- dead." Time slowed down. She closed her eyes, saying a silent apology to Clint and her children as she waited for death, her heart pounding in her ears. She flinched as she heard the report, but opened her eyes when she didn't feel anything. Before it even registered that the sound had come from behind her, not in front of her, she was being pulled backwards. She stared, astounded, as the man's gun dropped to the ground. Blood trickled from the hole in his forehead, and time seemed to stop as he fell forward. She gaped at Nyssa as the smaller woman slammed the door behind them. She pulled Laura with her as they dove behind the couch, the glass in the windows shattering as the men outside opened fire.

"They're all wearing Kevlar. Aim for the head to kill or for their legs to slow them down," Nyssa instructed quickly. She rolled towards a window, firing off several shots before ducking down and to the side, using solid wall for cover. Laura was frantically trying to reload as bullets whizzed overhead, burying themselves in walls, dishes and décor. Nyssa turned as the side door banged open, kicking over the table to provide a modicum of cover. Going down on one knee, she pointed the Sig Sauer at the windows and the Glock at the door. She emptied both clips, dropping another armored thug with each shot, and the pile of bodies by the door grew larger by the moment. She threw the pistols down as they emptied, and dove for the Springfield XD just as one of the invaders advanced towards their position. She pointed the gun at him, but before she could get a shot off, an arrow sprouted from his throat. He gurgled, dropping his weapon to grasp at the shaft protruding from his Adam's apple, then collapsed on the floor. Behind him, Cooper stood at the base of the stairs, eyes wide as he slowly lowered the bow. There was a pause in the attack, and Nyssa slid the Springfield into a leg holster as she closed her eyes briefly to assess the situation.

"Get to the basement!" she snapped quickly, opening her eyes. There were four men left outside, but their attentions were divided. "I'll run and get Nate." Both Laura and Cooper stared at her. "Go, now!" She grabbed an assault rifle from one of the men lying on the floor and sprinted towards the door. Seconds after the Bartons arrived downstairs and the door closed behind Nyssa, the living room and the front of the house exploded. Nyssa quickly shot the man holding the grenade launcher in the knees, and he swore as he fell. She tossed one of the explosives in the direction of the remaining men, sprinting to the barn as they dove for cover. Flames were shooting out of the windows, and Nate was awake and screaming. The livestock and horses were also panicking, frantic lows coming from the cattle as the horses screamed in their stalls. Nyssa ducked in through the back door and quickly climbed the ladder into the hayloft. Thick, black smoke filled the hayloft, and she could hear Nate crying in a corner as far from the fire as he could get. Pulling her shirt over her nose and mouth to block out the smoke, she crawled quickly over to the toddler's hiding spot. Still sobbing, he threw his arms around her neck, and she backtracked with him to the ladder. He clung to her as she scaled down it, though it wasn't as fast as she would have liked with twenty-five pounds clinging to her torso. Her grip slipped on the last two rungs, and she landed heavily on the hard-packed dirt floor of the barn.

She tried to set Nate down, but he only clung to her more fiercely. She could feel the fear and panic surging through him, and with flames jumping beside her as tall as she was, she didn't really blame him. The eighteen cows were restless and bunched together in the center, mooing loudly as they shied away from the fire. Two stalls had been built near the barn doors. One held a chestnut quarterhorse with a star on his forehead, rearing and kicking the walls of his stall as he whinnied and screamed. The other horse was a darker, heavier draft breed, head held high as he showed the whites of his eyes and snorted. Nyssa opened the stall door of the quarterhorse, letting him charge out, then turned her attention to the other horse. Gently stroking his nose, she drew away enough of his fear that he stood still for her, despite the fire raging around them.  _I need your help, friend._ After hoisting Nate onto his back, she climbed halfway up the stall to jump on behind him. Sitting astride the powerful beast, she had a moment of disorientation as she split her attention between guiding the horse and controlling her own body. The smoke was getting thicker. She squeezed the horse's sides with her legs, and he charged through the stall door she had left unlatched, then over to the barn's double doors. Rearing up, the Percheron knocked the doors open with its forelegs and stormed out into the fresh air. Behind them, the cattle charged ahead, stampeding towards the armed men that were now running toward them. Two of them were knocked over and disappeared beneath the trampling feet of terrified bovines. The last one stood back and leveled his rifle at the huge horse galloping towards him. Nyssa fired at him as they charged. He got a short burst off while ducking, and Nyssa felt the sharp, stinging pain as the bullets penetrated the horse's hide. The beast stumbled, but did not fall. The man was trying to back away quickly while keeping his weapon trained on them. The horse spun and kicked, his massive hooves connecting with the man's head, which snapped to the side. He fell to the ground, his head and neck at an unnatural angle. The horse stumbled, blood dripping on the ground from where he had been shot. Nyssa tightened her grip on Nate and dove off the horse in an emergency dismount. She landed on her feet, crumpled and rolled, keeping the toddler safe inside her arms. The draft horse slowed to a trot, then a walk, disappearing into the trees.

Standing, she looked around at the devastation. The barn was in flames. In the absence of an immediate threat, the cows were now milling about in the cornfield. The chestnut quarterhorse was still galloping away in the distance. The farmhouse had half caved in on itself, the obliterated kitchen exposed to air like a gaping wound, smoke rolling out of the upstairs windows in the back of the house. The two government vehicles stood abandoned, doors open. Bodies were strewn about in the grass, mostly around the house. Some of the motionless bodies had arrows jutting from them, and she realized that Cooper had been firing from the upstairs windows long before he came downstairs to assist them. All the men that had been sent to apprehend them were motionless, and Nyssa could not sense any life in them. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning. Nate looked up at her, bewildered. She grabbed his tiny hand in hers.

"Let's go find your mom," she told him. He sniffled and nodded.


	15. The Journey Back

Back in Wakanda, Steve, Bucky and Wanda watched the television in the common area in horror. The helicopter over the Barton farmstead revealed a shocking sight. The barn was little more than smoking ashes on the ground, and the house was still in flames, thick smoke obscuring the aerial view. Wanda was watching with her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. Steve and Bucky were both tense and grim.

"…recently revealed to be the home of rogue Avenger Clint Barton. The task force sent to apprehend him did not report back in. There were no survivors found at the site of the conflict, but Barton's body was not identified. Law enforcement has advised us to consider him still at large and extremely dangerous." A picture of Clint flashed in the corner of the screen as the camera returned to the news anchor sitting at her desk. "The FBI has set up a tipline for anyone who believes they have seen Barton to call." A 1-800 number floated across the bottom of the screen.

"Using that tactic again?" Bucky murmured, trying to ignore how  _no survivors found at the site_ echoed in his head.

"Worked last time," Steve pointed out quietly.

"Aww, they had to use that picture? That's a terrible picture," Clint said from the doorway, startling them.

"Clint, my God," Steve said. "I'm so sorry. We should have gone…" Clint shrugged and showed him his phone. Steve looked at it to see a text message.

_Got everyone out alive. Terribly sorry about the farm._ Clint sighed and turned the television off.

"I put seventeen years into that place. It's a loss, but it's not nearly as bad as it could have been," he said. "Now they just have to make it out of the country."

* * *

Laura cried for the first three hours after leaving the farm, but stopped shaking after two. She apologized four separate times for her reaction, even though Nyssa assured her that it was normal, healthy and perfectly understandable considering what they had all just been through. Nate had developed a persistent cough. Cooper had a bruise over one eye and Nyssa had dressed his wound from a glancing hit with a bullet. Nyssa had managed to extract the bullet that had lodged in her own shoulder, and she suspected she had fractured a couple ribs. They were battered and weary, but otherwise miraculously made it through relatively unscathed. Nyssa glanced in the rearview mirror at Cooper, who was sitting silently in the back of the van, staring out the window. He hadn't said a word since they had driven away from the only home he had ever known, although Nyssa hadn't missed the fact that he stared out the back of the van until he could no longer even see smoke. Nate and Lila had both fallen back to sleep as the stress of the night's events left them exhausted. Nyssa could feel the fatigue setting in as well, but didn't think sleeping was a good idea at the moment.

"Check the glove compartment," she instructed Laura. "There's papers there that should get us through the airport." Laura grabbed them and leafed through them with a frown.

"These…aren't our names," she said with some confusion. Nyssa nodded.

"We were anticipating trouble. I don't think anyone imagined it would be to this extent, but all things considered, I don't think your own names are safe to use right now." Laura mulled this over and nodded.

"I guess you're right." She kept looking through the papers, her face drawn. "So, call me Patricia Newman." There were tears in her eyes again. "I just can't believe… who were those guys, anyway?"

"The suit was Maverick Baines. He was an Army Captain but was dismissed under some shady circumstances, with questions about use of force, disregard for human rights and excessive civilian casualties. Then he got into politics. Secretary Ross appointed him as head of the task force assigned to find and arrest those in violation of the Sokovia Accords. As he mentioned, he was given wide latitude." Laura frowned over at her.

"How do you know him? Did you know he was coming?" Nyssa shook her head.

"No, I didn't know he was coming. We suspected that someone might. I'd heard about his appointment in the news. Some senators weren't happy about it. They felt he might use excessive force and unconstitutional tactics." Laura settled back in her seat and mulled this over.

"So maybe it's a good thing we took him out," she suggested. Nyssa glanced at her uneasily.

"Maybe. Or maybe Ross will use this incident to say that the tactics were justified, and double down. It's hard to say. Honestly, though, I don't know if there could have been a better outcome. He was going to try to force Clint to turn himself in by having all of you in custody. Failing that, you were going to be an example for anyone close to the rogue Avengers. A warning not to help them. It wasn't the kind of situation that anyone really wins. But we're all alive, and you should be safe where we're going." Laura glanced at her curiously.

"Where exactly  _are_  we going?" she asked. "You still haven't said." Nyssa half-smiled at the road ahead.

"Maybe I'm a little superstitious, but I would rather not say. Not until we get closer. Let's start looking for someplace we can get some breakfast," she suggested to Laura. "I'm going to need some coffee."

* * *

"A week, huh?" Bucky said. He was sitting on an exam table in the medical wing, hooked up to three different monitors as they ran tests to determine where the raw nerve ends and wires in what was left of his old prosthetic arm connected in his brain. Shuri stood in front of him, her arms folded over her chest. "There's no way to put a rush on that?" Shuri raised her eyebrows at him.

"Mr. Barnes, you are talking about an arm that is both prosthetic and weapon, made of the rarest metal in the world, with a functioning neural interface. That is not even mentioning the customization you have requested. Do you want your arm quickly, or do you want it to be done well?" Bucky sighed. A week ago, he hadn't even been sure he was ready to take the arm back, but now that he had made up his mind, the delay seemed interminable.

"I mean, a week isn't really that long," he mumbled. Shuri chuckled.

"That's what I thought," she said.

* * *

Nyssa stretched in the grass outside of a rest stop, running through some easy yoga poses as Lila chased Nate around the building, the toddler screeching with delight. Her ribs were still painful, and the shoulder wound made it hard to use her left arm, but she had survived worse. Cooper grabbed some snacks out of the vending machine and headed back towards the van. He still hadn't really spoken, and Nyssa watched him with concern. Laura came out of the building and walked over towards her. She sighed as she saw who Nyssa was looking at.

"He's struggling," Nyssa commented. Laura nodded.

"I know. I just… how do I even start to talk to him about this?" she asked in frustration. Nyssa turned to face her.

"You don't really. Mostly, you give him space to talk, and just listen." She looked back at Cooper, climbing into the back of the van and looking out the window again. "You're not really who he wants to hear from, anyway." Laura sighed, feeling tears start to prickle at the edge of her eyes.

"He's not the only one," she remarked. Nyssa laid a comforting hand on her arm.

"Soon," she promised.

* * *

Tinkering with the car at least helped to keep his mind off things, and helped keep the helpless feeling that he should be doing something, anything, at bay. Once they started putting it back together, progress slowed down, but it was still progress. Sam had showed him how to use the viewscreen in their makeshift garage to search both the Wakanda database and the internet, and he had found several websites to help walk him through any part of the repair. Currently, he had several pages open on the screen: basic welding instructions, tips, tricks and common mistakes, proper assembly of a 1967 Alfa Romeo Spider, and bodywork troubleshooting. One of the skills of Hydra's Asset was being able to learn skills and assimilate new information rapidly, a skill that continued to serve Bucky well. It had been a bit of a trick to figure out how to weld one-handed and still hold the metal sheets in place, but with some ingenuity and a few clamps, he had managed it. He started with the wheel tubs, trunk deck and floor panels, where he figured it wouldn't matter as much if the seams were ugly as long as they were strong. Now he was confident enough in his skills that he moved on to the rear quarter panel. Crouching down, he touched the tip of the nozzle to the metal and pulled the trigger, ignoring the shower of sparks cascading to the floor. The leathers were a little small, but he supposed he didn't have to worry about covering up his left shoulder so much. It wasn't like the metal was going to burn. He was almost done with the panel when Sam strolled in.

"I was expecting you a few hours ago," Bucky commented from behind his welding helmet. Sam shrugged with a grin.

"Sorry. Had a date." Bucky finished the weld, straightened up and lifted up the front of the helmet to look at Sam.

"You know that landing next to birds in trees doesn't actually count as a date, right?" He asked with a smirk. Rolling his eyes, Sam shook his head.

"I'm not even going to let you spoil this for me. I'm in too good a mood." He walked over and frowned up at the viewscreen. "Are these… all in Russian?" Bucky shrugged.

"They were more straightforward than the ones in English," he said.

"Yeah, but I can't read it," Sam pointed out. Bucky shrugged.

"I can translate for you," he reminded him. Sam scoffed.

"You sure that won't be too complicated?" he asked mockingly. Bucky barked something in Russian and threw a pair of safety gloves at Sam's face. Sam caught them before they hit him and rolled his eyes. "What was that, Grandpa?"

"Put on the damn safety gear. I need you to hold the next panel while I weld it. Think you can handle that?" Bucky retorted.

"You sure we have time for this?" Sam replied. "I mean, it's already past noon. We've only got a few hours before you're gonna want to have dinner and watch Wheel of Fortune." Bucky had no idea what Sam was referencing, but the mocking tone was clear enough.

"We've only got three panels left. I think I can manage," Bucky said dryly, grabbing the next one. "See, that's the problem with you kids these days. No fucking respect for your elders." Sam laughed.

"Barnes, are you about to tell me to get off your lawn?"

"I don't have a lawn, Birdboy." Bucky fired up the torch again, the crackle cutting off further conversation.

* * *

The lines at O'Hare seemed longer and slower than usual, and everyone seemed to be on edge. Tickets and passports were being scanned as belongings and people were searched. Usually, the scanner flashed green and the people were allowed through, but occasionally it flashed red instead, summoning a bevy of airport security. A couple people made a scene rather than submitting to further testing or going quietly with security, with the same result each time: more officers, handcuffs and being dragged away to the back. They did not come back again. Nyssa let the "Newmans" go through the scanner ahead of her, and breathed a sigh of relief when they all made it through, no questions asked. She ran her passport through the machine, just as all the people ahead of her had, and her heart sank as the scanner flashed red.

"Please step over here, ma'am," the guard by the scanner said. She could sense three more approaching, just in case she resisted. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Laura's frantic face peering through the crowd.

"Go ahead, I'll catch up!" she called over the murmur of travelers and the beeping of the security scanners. The guard produced a small device.

"I'll need a drop of your blood, ma'am," he said briskly. She frowned at him.

"Don't you need a warrant for that?" she asked. "Am I being accused of a crime?"

"No ma'am," he replied. "It's a new policy, just rolled out this week. It's to identify enhanced humans. Part of our new security measures."

"So if you do identify, ah, enhanced humans, what happens to them?" she asked. He shrugged.

"They have to go talk to my boss. He'll decide if it's safe for them to fly out of the country."

"And what happens if I refuse?" she asked. He signaled the other security for assistance.

"Then you get to visit the detention center downstairs," he replied, his tone going from businesslike to threatening. She held her hands up placatingly.

"I didn't say I was going to refuse, just asking what would happen if I would." She held out her hand just as the other guards drew closer. He pushed one end of the device into her finger, and she jumped slightly as a needle pricked her skin. The guard frowned down at the handheld gadget for several long moments. She noticed the Stark Industries logo on the side of it and shook her head with a sigh. The apparatus hummed, then trilled, then beeped loudly. The guard looked at her in surprise.

"I guess you get to go talk to my boss," he said, and nodded to the other security staff. Three guards, each one easily twice her size, walked with her down a long, brightly lit corridor. She glanced at the clock on the wall in apprehension. She still had almost two hours before their plane was scheduled to depart, but she didn't know how long this was going to take, or if she would be able to talk her way out of this at all. They brought her to a bare room with a table and two chairs, the only light positioned right over the table. She was seated in one chair and left to wait. The minutes ticked by.

The room's only door swung open, and a tall man with dark hair graying at the temples strode in. Nyssa looked up and brightened slightly as she recognized him.

"Dr. Taylor," he greeted her, setting her file down on the table. "I certainly never expected to see you here."

"I could say the same, Raymond," she replied. "I'm glad to see you're doing well. You should talk to someone about the décor in here, though. I can't say I care much for the interrogation room aesthetic." He chuckled and sat down in the chair across from her.

"How long has it been?" he asked offhandedly.

"Four years now, I think?" she answered. "We've missed having you as head of security, but you trained Alana well."

"I do kinda miss working for you," he admitted. "This is a whole different animal. The pay and benefits are good, though, so I guess I can't complain."

"So, Ray, what exactly is going on here?" she asked, leaning forward. "Now we're testing people's blood to see if they're safe to fly?" Raymond looked uncomfortable.

"Not everyone's. Most people pass the initial screening. You must have landed on a watchlist somehow, because the computer flagged you for further testing."

"Which was the blood test," Nyssa guessed. "What exactly are you testing the blood for?"

"It tests DNA and some other compounds to determine if it's within normal human parameters. I don't know exactly; I'm not a lab geek." He waved his hand dismissively.

"What's the error rate on that test?" she asked lightly. He shrugged.

"It's pretty accurate, from what I understand. Something like 0.025% error."

"Which is not zero," she pointed out.

"True," Raymond acknowledged. "Are you trying to say this was an error?" Nyssa spread her hands.

"Raymond, you know me. Do you really think I'm enhanced? That  _I_  have… super powers?" He regarded her thoughtfully.

"You know, it might explain a few things," he said. Her heart dropped.

"Like what?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Well, you know. You never seemed to get mad or stressed about anything, and you were always so kind and patient with everyone, even when they were screaming at you or threatening you. Didn't really seem humanly possible to keep that calm and keep smiling." She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Are you seriously suggesting that I might be too dangerous to fly because I'm too nice?" she asked in disbelief. The bandaged gunshot wound in her shoulder throbbed. He chuckled.

"Well, when you put it that way," he said with a grin. "Look, I have some routine questions you'll need to answer, and then you can probably be on your way." She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Routine questions, huh?" She leaned back in her chair. "Okay." He shuffled some papers in front of him.

"Okay. Dr. Taylor, where do your allegiances lie?"

"You mean, which side am I on?" she paraphrased. "I am on the side of humanity. I am on the side of life…" He raised an eyebrow at her. "…personal liberty, and the individual pursuit of happiness, so long as it doesn't harm others. Is that an acceptable answer?" He gave her a look of consternation.

"I'll just put America," he said. She suppressed an eyeroll.

"What are your travel plans? Business or pleasure?" This question, at least, made more sense.

"Vacation in Italy with my cousin's family," she answered easily. This, at least, had been preplanned. Laura's off-the-cuff relationship to her was now official.

"Have you ever used your abilities to harm someone?" he asked next. She frowned.

"That's a hell of a loaded question, isn't it?" she asked in response. "What abilities are you referring to? If I answer it at all, is it assumed that I've admitted to being… what did you call it? Enhanced?"

"That's the term they are using, yes," he said cagily. "Shall I rephrase? If you were to have enhanced abilities, would you use them to harm someone?"

"No," she answered definitively. "I run a nonprofit, Raymond. My job is to help. You know that."

"Okay. Have you ever killed someone?" he asked. She blinked at him.

"Seriously, these are just routine questions?"

"Hey, I don't write them, I just have to ask them," he replied with a shrug. She folded her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, sure. Just yesterday I killed nearly a dozen men, full-grown men with guns and armor and everything." She laid the sarcasm on thick. He chuckled, but then gave her a stern look.

"You know, if I were anyone else, your sense of humor would probably get you into deep trouble." She shrugged.

"If you were anyone else, I might have given a different answer." He gave her a pointed look, and she sighed, leaning forward to put her arms on the table. "Seriously, Ray. Do I look like a killer to you? Do you think I would ever even want to hurt someone, much less be capable of killing them?" He gave her a long, hard look. She settled back in her chair, making herself look as small and innocent as possible.

"Okay, no," he said, marking down the last box on his sheet. "All right. I'll walk you to your gate." They made small talk on the way; he asked about how the Foundation was doing and she asked about his wife. She had one last burning question to ask before he left to return to his office.

"So, what happens to the blood after you test it?" she asked. "Does it all just get thrown away?" He shook his head.

"Any sample that flags gets sent in for further testing. That's just a screening; they can do a full DNA and chemical analysis and find out exactly what someone could be capable of. It's amazing what science can do these days, isn't it?" Raymond shook his head in bemusement.

"Amazing," Nyssa echoed, scanning the crowd. "Thanks again, Ray." He left, and she spotted Laura sitting with Lila next to her and Nate crowding into her lap, trying to share the space with her pregnant belly. Cooper sat a little further away, not exactly with the group but watchful. Laura had her carry-on reserving the seat next to her. Nyssa crossed over to the little family. "Mind if I sit here?" she asked. Laura looked up, and her face brightened from worried to relieved.

"Oh, thank God you made it! They're probably going to be calling us for boarding soon," she told her. Nyssa sat down wearily next to her.

"Thank heavens for that." As much as she hated sleeping on planes, she wasn't sure that her exhausted body was going to give her any other option.


	16. Wounds Seen and Unseen

A small crowd had gathered at the airport in Wakanda, awaiting the passengers coming in on the next flight. Clint stood at the window, arms folded over his chest as his eyes scanned the sky for the small aircraft that was bringing his family to him. Behind him, the rest of the team stood prepared to rescue anyone who needed rescuing or carry luggage that needed carrying. They all moved closer to the windows as the small jet coasted in on the runway. It seemed to take forever before the passengers began to disembark. After several long minutes, people began to trickle by, and Clint scanned the crowd for the familiar faces he was expecting.

"Daddy!" Lila called out, darting through the crowd and into his arms. He picked her up and swung her around in a circle, pulling her into a bearhug. He put her down and looked up to see Laura standing just a few feet away from him.

"Oh, Clint," she breathed, and fell into his arms. Suddenly, the terror and stress of the last few days came crashing down on her again, and she found herself sobbing as he held her tight.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered in her ear. "It wasn't supposed to touch you. It was never supposed to touch you." The others backed away, giving them space for their bittersweet reunion. Lila clung to both of them, while Cooper stood a few feet away, watching them with a mix of relief, regret and anger in his face. Clint held his arm out towards his oldest son. Cooper hesitated, then ducked under his father's arm and joined in the hug. Nyssa emerged a few moments later, lugging her carry-on while Nate was fast asleep on her back in a backpack-style carrier. She looked hollowed out, with shadows around her eyes. Bucky had rehearsed over and over in his mind what he wanted to say to her, but when he saw her, the words seemed to vanish. She smiled wearily at him.

"Hi," he said, and Nate stirred on her back.

"Hi," she whispered back, glancing over her shoulder. "If you wake the jetlagged toddler, you have volunteered to babysit." He held his hand up and took a step back, eyes widening.

"Sorry," he said, keeping his voice low. "I'll take your bag?" With a grateful smile, she handed it to him. Wanda ran over and folded her friend into a hug, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. Bucky saw her wince and frowned.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Just some cracked ribs," she replied. "I'll heal."

"Or you could have them fix you up in the infirmary," Sam suggested, wandering over. "There's not much they can do for fractured ribs back home, but you're in Wakanda. They can fix things you didn't even realize were broken."

"Steve!" They all looked up to see a tall, blonde woman waving at the group. Steve waved back and smiled.

"Sharon, hi." He strode forward to meet her, and greeted her with a peck on the cheek. "I thought your flight wasn't getting in until tomorrow."

"I caught an earlier one," she replied. "I was going to surprise you. I definitely didn't expect you to meet me here." Steve nodded towards the Bartons, who were still in a huddle.

"We came to get them," he explained. "Apparently things have gotten even worse." Looking over at the reunited family, Sharon nodded grimly.

"There's a few things I need to talk to you about." She glanced around the airport. "Not here, though."

* * *

The weather in Wakanda was generally either raining, or beautifully balmy. It wasn't raining today. The shuttle that was taking them back to the palace had a driver, but no wheels, hovering a few inches above the ground instead. Nyssa had quickly found a corner and settled in, wrapping her arms around her chest. Bucky considered trying to sit next to her, but she looked away as he boarded, so he opted to go to the very back and ended up sitting next to Steve instead. They were about halfway back when Cooper started yelling. One moment, he had been sitting by the window, silently looking at the tropical foliage gliding by. The next, he was on his feet in the shuttle, yelling for them to stop, stop the bus, dammit! Taken by surprise, the driver slammed on the brakes, and Cooper pushed through the doors and charged off through the greenery. Clint chased after him.

"Cooper, stop!" he shouted. Cooper did stop, but then spun around to confront his father, his face contorted with anger.

"This is where you've been?" he spat at Clint. "We've been worried and you've been on some… tropical vacation?!" Clint had stopped a few feet away from him, not used to seeing this kind of behavior from his son.

"Believe me, I would have much rather been at home with you," he replied.

"Oh, sure. I could tell from all the times you showed up!" Cooper shot back.

"You know things aren't that easy right now – "

"Did you even miss us, Dad?"

"Young man, I don't appreciate your tone…"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child!" Cooper's anger was dissolving into hot tears streaming down his face. "You were gone, so I had to be the man. I had to help out Mom, look out for the kids, take care of the farm…"

"Cooper, you're  _twelve._ " Clint's tone had softened, his expression pained.

"And I failed! I killed three of them, but they still got the farm. We needed you, but you weren't there!" Cooper added emphasis with dramatic sweeps of his arms, long, thin limbs that he hadn't yet grown into since his last growth spurt. He was on the verge of sobbing now, but still trying valiantly to suppress it. Clint moved closer, arms loose at his sides in an open stance.

"You're right, I should have been," he said quietly. Cooper stopped yelling and just stared at him. "It's not your fault, Cooper. You didn't fail. I'm sorry." Cooper looked like he hadn't quite expected this sudden capitulation, and took a surprised step towards his father. Clint pulled him into a hug, and the boy's tears began in earnest. "You guys are all safe. That's what's most important."

Those left on the bus were watching the scene play out by the side of the road, feeling uncomfortably like they were intruding. After a few minutes, Clint stuck his head in the door.

"You guys can head back. We're going to go for a walk." The bus resumed its journey, and Nyssa shifted in her seat to watch them trudging along beside the road, father's arm slung around the shoulders of his son.

* * *

The first stop was the infirmary, where everyone was tested and assessed and inspected following their ordeal. Nyssa breathed a sigh of relief as they waved an instrument over her ribs and the pain faded, replaced by a vague itch of tissues healing. Her shoulder got the same treatment, only this time she could watch the tissues heal and regenerate, replacing the gaping wound with brand new skin, without even a hint of a scar. Normally, she would be fascinated by how it worked, but she was so exhausted that she couldn't manage more than a mild interest. They wanted to do a full-body scan to make sure she was otherwise okay, but she had refused this, knowing what they would find. She didn't have the energy for the questions that would surely follow. The fitful, dream-disturbed sleep on the plane hadn't been exactly rejuvenating, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a bed and finally allow her body to rest. She was losing focus, and her shielding was getting shakier, so she was painfully aware of the thoughts and conversations of the others nearby. Her heart sank as she sensed Steve drawing near. She looked up as he entered the exam room and stood by the window, arms folded over his chest and concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows. She was impressed at the level of anger held beneath the outwardly calm façade. Much of it was directed at himself and at the recent turn of events, but some of it was meant for her, too. Bucky filed in behind Steve, outwardly silent but internally a tempest of concern, relief and confusion. Clint came in after them, primarily relieved and grateful, but suddenly curious about this woman who had (more or less) successfully escorted his family to him.

"So, what happened?" Steve asked, his tone calm despite the waves of suspicion coming from him. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"You want a mission report, now?" she asked, fatigue evident in her voice. Steve returned her gaze levelly, and she sighed. "I arrived there around 1800 after 18 hours of driving…" She related to him the events as well as she remembered them, trying to keep it to facts only. She knew he wasn't here to talk about how she felt about the events of the past few days. As she talked, the three pairs of eyes watching her grew rounder, trying to ignore the waves of surprise and disbelief radiating from them. Clint, at least, was at least a little bit impressed. She finished her report, and silence hung in the room for several moments. Then Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"So, just so I understand this," he said slowly. "You were attacked in the middle of the night by a dozen government agents, and you singlehandedly killed all of them, then drove another eighteen hours, got on a plane and came here?" Nyssa frowned.

"I never said singlehandedly. Laura took out at least one, Cooper got three, a couple were trampled to death, one got his head kicked in by a Percheron. That leaves six, and really is that so difficult to believe?" she replied defensively. "I happen to have a diverse skill set."

"It matches up with what Laura told me," Clint offered. "She also asked if you were military. Said you moved like a soldier. Dead shot, too." Steve looked over at Clint, then back at Nyssa.

"Where did a therapist from Manhattan learn to fight like a soldier?" he asked. "Who trained you, and why?" Nyssa blinked at him, suddenly realizing where this was coming from. Sharon had been giving Nyssa suspicious looks ever since she had arrived. She must have put a bug in Steve's ear, and now he was worried that Nyssa had come here with ulterior motives. She sighed.

"US Marshall named Elijah Taylor. No blood relation. He trained me because I begged him to. Because my life depended on it at the time." She glanced over at Bucky, who was still lurking in the corner, blue eyes watching her speculatively, and decided not to mention that contact with the Winter Soldier had enhanced her existing skills further.

"So, what happened to 'most situations can be resolved without violence'?" Steve challenged her.

"Maverick Baines and his band of bullies happened. He apparently believed it was within his job description to summarily execute an innocent pregnant woman," she shot back. "At that point, I didn't think there was going to be much opportunity to discuss alternative anger management techniques." Steve shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor, and she felt his anger slowly melting away, leaving behind regret and guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said. "If I had known how dangerous it was going to be, I wouldn't have let you go. We should have gone, not you." She knew he meant well, but something in his tone ignited indignation within her, and she was just too exhausted to talk herself down.

"Right, because the  _Avengers_  have the reputation for being able to resolve conflicts without property destruction," she bit out sarcastically. Steve looked up at her sharply. "My insurance rates tripled after the last time you guys hit Manhattan, and you didn't even damage any of my buildings." Her scowl lessened as she got down off the exam table and wrapped her arms around herself, her face becoming more pensive. "I keep going over all the should haves in my head. We should have left right away rather than getting some sleep. I should have stayed awake all night, just in case they showed up. I should have…" She stopped and shook her head. "No matter how many times I replay it and try to change it, I can't." She turned to Clint, remorse knitting her brow. "I'm sorry about your home, Clint. I'm grateful you had a stocked weapons locker and the foresight to build a bomb shelter in your basement, or I might not have been able to bring your entire family to you after all. How are they doing?"

"Laura and the baby are going to be okay, they said everything looks good," Clint replied. "They gave Nate something for his cough, said it should clear his lungs up by tonight. Cooper had a few scrapes but they made short work of those. Lila is fine. They're all going to be fine."

Nyssa sighed in relief and looked down at the floor, then back up at Steve. "Tell Sam and Scott, I got a message to Natasha and she's having people she trusts watch their families to make sure nothing happens to them. And for the record, I never would have asked Cooper to fight. All of that, he did on his own. May I be dismissed? I'm… a little tired." The way she was weaving on her feet underlined the understatement of her words. Steve sighed and nodded. The three men were silent as she stalked through the door.

"Nyssa, wait!" Bucky called after her a few minutes later, as she was waiting for the elevator. She half-turned towards him. He jogged a few steps to catch up, then slowed, holding her bag out to her. "You forgot this." As tired as she obviously was, she managed a grateful smile.

"Thanks," she said, taking the bag and slinging it haphazardly over her shoulder.

"For awhile there, we all thought you were dead," he said, fighting both the urge to scold her for putting herself in such a dangerous situation and the urge to pull her into a relieved hug. Her smile turned wry.

"Don't believe everything you see on television," she replied. "I'm sorry to worry everyone." Worry wasn't quite the word Bucky would have chosen. He remembered his disbelief and despair watching the news report saying there had been no survivors. The elevator door opened, and Nyssa hesitated a moment, looking up at him. There were other things he wanted to say, other questions that he had, but looking at the shadows and exhaustion on her face, he decided it could wait.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said. "Get some rest." She stepped into the elevator and turned to face him with a bemused smile and an odd gleam in her eyes.

"Good night, Bucky," she said, though the sun was still high in the sky. He stood and watched the elevator doors for a few minutes even after she had disappeared.


	17. Paths to Happiness

Nyssa didn't bother to even get undressed before she threw herself into bed and let sleep claim her. A few hours later, she was awakened by a familiar chime from her laptop. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she went to answer the video chat request from her office building, the Phoenix Rising Institute. She was a little surprised to see the pretty blonde receptionist who had started there just a few months before she had left on sabbatical. She searched for the woman's name for a moment, then gave her an encouraging smile. The poor thing looked terrified.

"Hello, Ellie, what's going on?" she asked, making an effort to keep her voice calm and pleasant. Ellie glanced to the side, chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

"Um, Dr. Taylor, I think I messed up," she whispered. Nyssa frowned.

"Why do you say that?" she asked. Ellie glanced down for a moment.

"There was a man here a couple hours ago," she explained. "He asked to see you. I told him you were still on vacation, but offered to take a message. He said he would come back again and asked if you were going to return in the next few days." Ellie glanced to the side again, and Nyssa realized someone else was sitting there, just off-camera. "Um, I told him I didn't know, but that your calendar was still cleared for another month." She hung her head. "I'm so sorry. I won't ever discuss details of your schedule with anyone without clearance ever again, I promise!" The screen shifted, and Alana's disapproving face hovered over the girl's.

"What do you think, boss?" she asked. "Could be nothing. Could not be nothing." Nyssa sighed. At first glance, this seemed like something blown way out of proportion, but she trusted Alana's instincts. If she thought this was worth making a big deal over….

"Send me the AV file," she instructed tiredly.

"And how about Ellie, here?" Alana asked crisply. "Should she be packing up her desk? I can escort her off grounds for you." All color had drained from Ellie's face.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Nyssa said. "Consider this a warning. Have her review our policies on employee confidentiality. If it happens again, we may have to take further disciplinary action. Okay?" Eyes wide, Ellie nodded. Nyssa had a feeling the girl had not only learned her lesson, but would become a vigilant gatekeeper of information from this point on. The screen started to move, as Alana carried it away from the front desk and back to her office.

"How about it, though, Nyssa?" she asked quietly after she was behind her closed door. "What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, and when are you coming back?" Nyssa sighed.

"What kind of trouble still remains to be seen. As for when I'm coming back… I'm not sure yet, Alana. Probably soon. Ish." Depending who was on the tape, it might be safer for her here. It might not be a bad idea to take an actual vacation during her vacation. The idea of going home right now wasn't as appealing as she thought it probably should be. "Is there something pressing there that needs my attention?" Alana shrugged.

"Nothing beyond the usual stuff. Is that a really not sure, not sure, or is that a plausible deniability not sure?"

"'Lana," Nyssa said in exasperation. "I promise, as soon as I know when I'm coming home, you will be the first to know. I will send you my flight information and everything."

"Okay." Alana subsided. "I just have a bad feeling about that guy. Please be careful."

"You know I always am." They both signed off, and she pulled up the file Alana had sent her of the mysterious man who had been asking about her. She didn't recognize him, but she could immediately see why Ellie had been so free with her information. He was young, all dark curls and brooding eyes, with an Italian accent. The conversation seemed innocent enough, but she still felt uneasy watching it, and wished – not for the first time – that she could read minds over a video connection as easily as in person. She sat and pondered for awhile, and then with a shake of her head, decided to go for a walk.

When she had gotten permission to go on her hikes, T'Challa had been very clear that she was not to go at night, so that wasn't an option. It was already growing dark out. With no destination in mind, she let her feet carry her while she pondered the events of the last few days and possible ramifications for the future. Focused on her internal conflict and holding tightly onto her mental shields, she was shocked when she bumped into someone, who immediately reached out with a steadying hand on her shoulder. She looked up and felt her stomach do a little flip as Bucky's sky blue eyes met hers.

"You look like a woman on a mission," he commented. "Everything all right?" She managed a small smile back at him and realized she had made her way into the common area in their wing of the palace.

"I'm fine, I just… have a lot on my mind. How have you been? Your mind isn't still playing tricks on you, is it?" she asked lightly, intentionally stepping back into her therapist role. He looked at her carefully.

"No, I've been feeling pretty clear," he said. "For the first time in a long, long time. There was something I wanted to ask you, though." He glanced down at the ground for a moment, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. She knew what he wanted to ask. It had been clear on his face since the moment he had seen her again. She also knew what her answer should be, though she was having a difficult time reconciling that with what she wanted it to be. Before he could say more, however, one of the doors suddenly opened and Nate Barton came screeching out into the hallway.

"No, no, don't want you! Don't like you! Don't want you, Daddy!" he shrieked. He made a beeline for Nyssa and threw his little arms around her legs, crying. She scooped him up into a hug just as Clint came rushing through the door.

"Nathaniel Pietro Barton, you come back…" He stopped as he spotted Nyssa holding his son and sighed. Nate tightened his grip around Nyssa's neck, still sobbing. Making comforting noises, she moved away from the men and found a comfortable couch to support her and the melting down toddler. After a couple minutes, his sobs quieted. Clint put his hands on his hips with a sigh and turned to Bucky.

"Well, all my kids hate me, and I think I'm going to spend the next decade or so apologizing to my wife. How's your night going?" he said. Bucky couldn't really come up with a good answer, so he just shrugged.

"Nyssa," Nate said between shaky post-sobbing breaths, "tell me story?"

"Sure," she replied. "What story do you want to hear?"

"'bout the fire 'n Bossman 'n the bad men." Clint frowned at this response, but Nyssa didn't seem fazed.

"Okay. So, you wanted to spend one more night with the animals, so you went out and climbed up into the hayloft and fell asleep. When you woke up, everything was on fire, and you were scared." Bucky and Clint exchanged looks. Nyssa's tone was as light and calm as if she were reading any children's story, but the content certainly wasn't what they had expected. "I came and found you, and we climbed down into the barn. The cows were all bunched together and scared, and the two horses…"

"Bossman 'n' Hotchot," Nate supplied helpfully. Nyssa nodded and continued.

"Hot Shot was really scared, but Bossman knew he had to help us. We climbed up on his back, and he crashed through the doors and let all the animals out."

"Like pow! Raugh! Kshh!" Nate added sound effects helpfully, making thrashing movements with his arms in demonstration. "An' bad men go blgggh." Nyssa chuckled.

"That's right. The bad men were trying to hurt us, but Bossman kicked them and the cows ran over them, and then we were safe. We found your mommy and your sister and your brother, and we all came here and found your daddy. And now everyone is safe."

"I don' wanna be safe," the toddler protested in a drowsy voice. "Wanna be a superhero!" Nyssa smiled, rubbing his back.

"Then you better get a good night's sleep," she told him quietly. "Even superheroes need their rest, so that they can wake up and fight bad guys." Nathaniel didn't reply, his sleepy head burrowed into her shoulder. She stood up and walked back over to where Bucky and Clint were still standing, watching her. Clint took back his now-soundly sleeping son and scowled down at Nyssa.

"Was it necessary to talk about that?" he asked in an annoyed whisper, trying not to wake Nate. "Couldn't you just, I dunno… erase that memory for him so it won't bother him?" Nyssa shook her head at him.

"You can't erase memories, only suppress them." She held up a hand as he started to retort. "No, I'm not just arguing semantics. Suppressed memories will always out, eventually, usually in unpleasant ways. Technically, yes, I could, but then you'd be explaining to him in five years why he's having screaming nightmares of fire and death. Telling the story helps him process it. So keep telling it, whenever he asks. Let him tell it, if he wants to. Then remind him that he's safe. Eventually, he won't ask for the story anymore. That means it's lost its emotional charge, and he doesn't need to hear it again. And they don't hate you. They're just overwhelmed, and they need to be sure you're not going to disappear on them again." Clint looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded and carried the sleeping boy back to the door Nate had come crashing out of just a few minutes before. Nyssa watched until the door shut behind them, then turned her attention back to Bucky. "You said you had a question?" Bucky nodded, then glanced nervously around, suddenly aware of how many other people were nearby and that they could emerge at any time.

"I did, I do, but… maybe we should go for a walk?"

The palace gardens were usually sparsely populated even during the day, except when there was a royal function. Bucky suspected they would be even less occupied at night. Less confined, more private than the common room. What he had apparently forgotten to take into account….

"Oh, my," Nyssa breathed, eyes wide as she drank in the bioluminescent plants glowing peacefully, the lightning bugs flickering here and there, the gentle illumination along the fragrant garden paths, the moon hanging low and full in the sky.

…was the aesthetics of their destination. Which, judging by the expression on her face, were quite astounding.  _Knocked that one out of the park without even trying, I guess._ For a moment, he watched her drinking in the lovely sights around them, even as he drank in the way her hair shone softly in the moonlight, and the soothing glow around them playing across her skin, making her seem almost ethereal. She looked over at him, her eyes meeting his for the first time since they had nearly collided in the common room downstairs. He could feel his resolve melting away once again as he gazed into them, tonight more green than brown. He could speak and understand more than 30 different languages, but now, looking into her eyes, he suddenly found that all of the words escaped him. Suddenly ashamed, he looked away. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? He didn't deserve….  _We don't get what we deserve, we get what we ask for. But we don't always get what we ask for, either._ He felt a gentle hand slip into his, and looked down at their joined hands in surprise even as his anxiety started to ebb away.

"Bucky," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay." He traced the back of her hand with his thumb.

"When are you leaving again?" he asked quietly. She sighed.

"I don't know yet. I took an open-ended sabbatical. But I can't stay forever. Maybe another week or two, at the most. Why?" He still wasn't certain… He knew he wasn't ready for courting. He wasn't sure that was still a thing. What was the current protocol for this type of thing nowadays? "There isn't really any protocol," she replied, answering his unspoken question. Of course, she knew what was going on in his head.  _Did you go and forget that she is a literal mind reader, idiot?_ "Some people stick to the more traditional ways," she continued. "Some people prefer to just hook up and explore the physical side without any emotional involvement. Some date one person at a time, some date many at the same time. Some prefer monogamy, some like to be in multiple committed but open relationships, and some are happiest when they're not romantically involved. Some prefer the opposite gender, some prefer the same gender, and for some people gender makes no difference at all."

"That all sounds… very complicated," he commented. She smiled at him.

"It doesn't have to be. Essentially, we're just starting to realize that there are many paths to happiness. Each person can go after what they want. They just have to figure out what that is." Her other hand joined the first, and she held his hand in both of hers. "So, Bucky… what do you want?" He looked into her eyes again, and this time, the words stayed.

"I want… to spend time with you. I don't want you to leave without getting to know you more. I'm still trying to figure a lot of things out, but there is one thing I'm sure of. If you leave, and I didn't at least ask, then I'll always wonder, and I'll always regret." She looked up at him, eyes wide and searching his.

"And when I have to leave?" she asked.

"Then I'll miss you," he admitted. "But I'll also be alive, and awake, and in control of my own mind, and that is all because of you. I have pieces of myself back that I thought were long gone, thanks to you." She dropped her gaze down to their linked hands, silent for a moment.

"I didn't do that much, just gave you a framework you could work with. You did the heavy lifting," she said. Before he could argue with her, she looked back up at him with a little smile. "So, it seems like what you're asking for is… a date." He smiled back. A date seemed a reasonable step, without too many scary expectations.

"Yes, a date," he agreed. "Nyssa, will you join me on a date?" She took a deep breath, and he realized that was the first time he had used her first name out loud.

"Oh, Bucky," she replied, "I would love to join you on a date." Standing on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips whisper-soft against his cheek, then dropped his hands and took a couple steps down the path before spinning back around to face him. "Dinner. Tomorrow night?" Bucky nodded, feeling relief and excitement as he watched her leave, a slim silhouette against the backdrop of the gardens. He reached up and touched his cheek, still tingling from her kiss. A date. He had a date.

Then the butterflies hit.  _A date. I have a date. Shit, shit, shit, I have a date._


	18. Vanessa Monterose

He had a  _double_  date. Bucky wasn't even really sure how that part had happened. He'd mentioned his date to Steve, mostly trying to get ideas of where to eat, and his friend had all but taken over the planning part. He suspected that Sharon was actually the mastermind behind it all, since realistically Steve was a great strategist but not so much of a romantic. He had been shooed away to let them do the planning, and so had spent most of the day with Sam working on the car, which was very close to being back in running condition. Now he found himself in Steve's quarters, scowling at his freshly shaved reflection in the mirror as he tried to tie his tie one-handed.

"All the high tech crap in the world now, and nobody's invented a tie that ties itself yet?" he grumbled, fumbling with the silk. Steve chuckled as he stepped into the bathroom next to his friend, grabbing his shoulders to turn him towards him.

"They do still have clip-ons," he informed him, tying the blue silk into a half-Winsor. "But Sharon tells me they're not as classy."

"Well, at least I'm a  _classy_  formerly brainwashed fugitive ex-assassin," Bucky quipped, running his hands nervously down the front of his borrowed suit. One nice thing about Steve being big was that they were close to the same size for once, although wearing the suit felt very odd after spending so many decades exclusively in combat gear. Steve chuckled.

"Relax, Buck. You've already gotten the hard part over with." Bucky frowned at him.

"What do you mean?"

"As far as the getting to know you part. She already knows everything about you, right? Everything you've done, everything that's happened to you?" Bucky nodded mutely. "And she still wants to go on a date with you." Steve raised his eyebrows at him. "Seems to me that not even I could screw this one up." He took a step back and looked his friend over. "I gotta say, you're looking more like yourself these days." There were still some noticeable differences, of course, even if you didn't include the missing arm. But his eyes were less haunted, his face less hollow. The face that looked back at him in the mirror looked more alive, and he felt it, too. It was the face of someone who had hope again. Steve brushed down the front of his suit and frowned as his hand made contact with something small and hard. "What are you…" He pulled one side of Bucky's suit jacket open and frowned at the handgun tucked into the inner pocket. "Buck, you're going on a date, not a mission. You don't need to be armed." Bucky pushed Steve's hand away and closed the jacket, debating whether to try buttoning the one button or not.

"I'm more comfortable this way," he protested.

"We aren't even leaving the palace," Steve pointed out. "Who is going to attack us? One of the guards?" T'Challa had seemed amused by Steve's request, and offered one of the more ornate, less-often-used formal dining rooms for the evening. "Leave it here." With a sigh, Bucky took it out of the inner pocket and set it by the sink.

"There. Happy?"

"Happier, yes. Now let's go. We shouldn't keep the ladies waiting." Bucky followed Steve out the door, relieved that his friend hadn't insisted on a pat-down and discovered the knife strapped to his lower leg as well.

If he was being completely honest with himself, the fact that their current situation precluded any long-term plans increased the appeal. It was a little selfish, but he had to admit that he was glad she wasn't asking for any promises. He had no idea what the future held for him; he certainly couldn't promise a future to anyone else. He wished it could be different; that she didn't have to leave and that he had more to offer. While his mind was on the mend, and soon his body would be whole as well, that still didn't change the fact that he was a fugitive and a killer who had committed terrible crimes. Whether he was actually guilty of them and what the consequences should be was perhaps a debate for another time. For now, he had been absent from the feast of life for so long that even table scraps seemed a banquet.

She opened the door to his knock, and all thoughts of future and promises and feasts and table scraps fled his mind. She was, quite simply, stunning. She was dressed in a lovely lavender gown that shimmered and clung to her figure, then flowed to the floor, making her seem taller. Her arms were bare save for a single bracelet, even absent her customary gloves. Her hair was worn loose and cascaded in mahogany waves past her shoulders, and he resisted the sudden urge to bury his face in it. Whatever she had done with her makeup made her eyes seem even larger and greener than usual, and her lips were stained a light, kissable pink.

"Wow," he said, and she smiled at him with a twinkle in her eyes. He realized she was very much aware of his reaction, and was enjoying it. He felt a flush of heat start in the center of his chest and spread up to his cheeks, which he suspected were turning red.

"You look very handsome yourself tonight, Mr. Barnes," she said, slipping her arm through his as he offered it. He glanced down at her in amusement.

"Isn't Mr. Barnes a little formal for a date, Dr. Taylor?" he said teasingly. She smirked up at him.

"I guess we'll have to see how the evening goes, won't we?"

They met up with Steve and Sharon outside the dining room. Sharon was wearing a flattering red number with lipstick to match. During the formal introductions, she favored Bucky with a smile, but only gave Nyssa a cold nod. Bucky was mystified. The last time they had met, the Winter Soldier had tried to kill her, but apparently she had forgiven him that. So what had Nyssa done to deserve such icy treatment? The large, ornately carved doors to the dining room opened before them, and they walked into the small, but richly appointed dining room. A water feature trickled down one wall, and an elaborately carved frieze ran around the top of the room. An intricate representation of a panther was painted on the wall opposite the water feature, with extra details carved in relief. The table in the center was set for four, but appeared laughably small in the grand room, which could probably accommodate several dozen guests. The table settings were no less impressive or lavish. Steve pulled Sharon's chair out for her before sitting down, and Bucky took the cue from him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered this, but it had long been pushed aside for more pressing concerns of strategy and efficiency. She gave him an encouraging smile as he seated himself next to her. The doors at the other end of the room opened, and a handful of royal servants glided through with the appetizer course. They set the dishes down with motions so graceful and calculated, it was almost a dance. Steve raised his glass in a toast.

"To old friends and new adventures," he declared. Bucky and Nyssa lifted their glasses too. Sharon toasted with Steve and Bucky, but pointedly ignored Nyssa's glass. An awkward silence hung over the table, stretching the moments into agonizing eternity. With a sigh, Nyssa set her glass back down and laid her hands flat on the table.

"I am going to take a moment to clear the air," she said quietly. Sharon looked at her sharply. She smiled warily at the other woman. "Sharon has done her due diligence in looking into my background, not at Steve's request. She has found some… inconsistencies that have made her suspicious. She doesn't think I am who I say I am, and she suspects my motives. Am I right so far, Sharon?" Sharon blinked, but slowly nodded. Nyssa turned and addressed the woman directly. "If you were going to put all of this effort into an investigation, you should have told me. I would have given you the other name to look into. Vanessa Monterose." Sharon looked surprised, but grabbed her phone, starting to make a notation into it. Then she frowned, and looked sharply at Nyssa.

"Wait a minute. United States vs Benito Mateu et al, Vanessa Monterose?" she asked incredulously. Nyssa nodded.

"The lady knows her criminal justice history," she commented.

"Care to enlighten those of us who don't?" Steve asked, looking confused. Sharon looked from him to Nyssa, who inclined her head in consent.

"Vanessa Monterose was the prime witness in that case, which was the largest ring of human trafficking and child prostitution ever prosecuted at the time. Thanks to her testimony, thirty-four people were sentenced on something like 800 different counts, including kidnapping, false imprisonment, child prostitution… it was a long list."

"I was happy they couldn't harm anyone else," Nyssa said softly. "Though I was more gratified with the 578 victims I was able to help police find and liberate."

"If I recall, wasn't Vanessa also one of the victims?" Sharon asked.

"I prefer survivor," Nyssa replied quietly. "I escaped. I lived. Others weren't so lucky." Sharon frowned at her, her expression still suspicious and somewhat puzzled.

"According to the official records, though, Vanessa Monterose died. Within a year of the trial ending," she recalled. Nyssa nodded.

"Oh, yes. She had to die, otherwise I'd never get a life back." Three sets of eyes now were trained on her, Sharon's still suspicious, Steve's shocked, Bucky's intrigued. She chuckled softly and looked down at her plate. "I spent two years in witness protection. This was a multibillion dollar enterprise I was breaking up, that included some people in very high places. Turns out, rich and powerful people don't really like people trying to stop them. There was a price on my head. I think it went as high as $2.5 million, by the end of it. There were many attempts to collect that. None of them succeeded in killing me, obviously, though my mother wasn't so lucky. The trial concluded, people went to prison, the ring was broken up. I thought I was in the clear. But then, a few weeks later, another assassin came for me. They couldn't stop me from testifying, but they could punish me, and they intended to." She shook her head. "That was when I realized I was going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, unless I could find a way to solve that. So, the next one that came for me, we made it look like he'd succeeded. Some lucky bastard actually got that money. The rest was easy, if not exactly legal. A falsified autopsy report, a forged death certificate… Vanessa was buried, and four months later, Nyssa Taylor started college."

"So you were… how old?" Bucky could do the math, it was just hard to believe. Nyssa wasn't quite meeting his eyes.

"Fifteen when I was… well, essentially kidnapped. Sixteen when I escaped. Eighteen when I faked my death and changed my name. But that was nearly twenty years ago. This… really isn't a great dinner topic. I'm sure there are other things we could be discussing that are more… palatable." There was a long pause around the table, and then Steve cleared his throat.

"Dr. Taylor, tell me more about your… foundation. Phoenix something, right?" Nyssa smiled gratefully at Steve, and Bucky mentally kicked himself for not thinking of the new topic first. The servants emerged again, bearing new dishes, and there was another dance with impeccable choreography as they cleared their empty plates and placed the next course before them.

"Phoenix Rising Foundation, and the Phoenix Rising Institute, yes. My grandmother left me a sizeable inheritance, enough to get me through college and have… quite a bit left over. That became the start of Phoenix Rising. Helping people rise from the ashes of their lives, rebuild when they have nothing left. At first, I focused on human trafficking survivors, for obvious reasons. Then we expanded into helping domestic abuse survivors, and now just anyone who has been through a traumatic experience and needs some help can apply. The Phoenix Rising Institute offers all kinds of therapy and counseling, group, family and individual, grief counseling, trauma recovery, EMDR, CBT, DBT. We also have classes on interpersonal relationships, parenting classes, anger management, nonviolent communication, meditation, all on sliding scale fees. We help people find resources to do what they need to do to build a life that they want and heal from whatever happened to them.

"The last decade or so, we've been able to expand our community outreach and involvement. I have residential buildings in all five boroughs, mostly filled with women and children trying to get out of really toxic or dangerous situations. It's kind of experimental, more of a cooperative than just a place to stay. Weekly house meetings, and there's a building moderator to help with disagreements between residents rather than resorting to calling the cops. We do have security, too, but they're more to prevent break ins, or when situations get dangerous. Everyone has a role to play, if they're willing. Some help with childcare so others can work, some help out with laundry or cleaning, some learn how to do building maintenance. We provide training if they want it, so they end up with job skills, too. Community garden on each roof, helps with food deserts. It's more than just a place to live, for most of them. I keep having to buy more buildings because nobody ever seems to want to move out." She grinned, but then the smile faded. "It's not perfect. Things still go wrong. But when they do, they have other people to help them out, and that helps. We also have a couple drop-in centers for teens in at-risk neighborhoods, and one that's also a shelter at night for the ones that don't have another place to sleep. They get involved in community service type projects, take fun classes that teach them skills they can use. It gives them someplace safe to go after school, where they can have some food if they're hungry, get involved in their community and stay away from the kind of people who would take advantage." Steve raised his eyebrows at her.

"Impressive," he commented. She shrugged.

"I just thought about what I wanted, what I needed, when I was in that situation. Then I tried to create that for others." She glanced over at Sharon, who no longer appeared suspicious, but was looking at Nyssa with a grin and a twinkle in her eye. "What?" Sharon shook her head with a chuckle.

"I can't believe that Vanessa Monterose became the Angel of New York," she said. Nyssa groaned and hid her face in her hands.

"Wait, what now?" Bucky asked. Nyssa dropped her hands, but her cheeks remained red.

"There was a reporter a few years ago who took some… creative liberties. I agreed to do the interview because I thought it would help the Foundation. It was just one article in one paper."

"Right, just one paper. Only the New York Times," Sharon said teasingly. Nyssa sighed.

"My staff loved it. Even decorated my office with harps, halos and little angel wings. I was not so much a fan."

"Why not?" Bucky asked. It seemed a fitting enough nickname to him. She smiled at him, her eyes thanking him for the compliment.

"Aside from the fact that I don't believe in angels?" she mused. "I have a lot of very good people working for me. I don't deserve all the credit. And I'm definitely not an angel, in any sense of the word."

"You don't believe in angels?" Steve asked. She shook her head slightly.

"Not angels. Nor demons. Nor monsters," she replied. Sharon scoffed.

"Do you rent out those rose-colored glasses?" the blonde woman asked. Nyssa chuckled.

"See, you think I'm naïve, but people come to me when they've been through the worst hell they can imagine. Every time I think people couldn't possibly find more ways to hurt each other, someone manages to surprise me. There's nobody better at hurting people than other people. And that's all it is. Just people. Hurting each other, helping each other, killing each other, saving each other. No monsters. No angels. Just people."

"You realize that you personally know two super soldiers and a woman who can move things with her mind, right?" Steve said jokingly. Nyssa half-smiled at him.

"Wanda is capable of more than that," she pointed out. "And I technically have what you would call superpowers as well." She shrugged. "Greater capacity to harm. Greater capacity to help. Still just people. Calling someone else a monster for causing harm to others is just a way to distance oneself from the truth that we are all of us capable of monstrous things."

"How did you come by your powers?" Sharon asked. "Both of these guys were experiments, and Wanda got hers from Hydra. Were you…?" Nyssa shook her head.

"Born with them, technically, although they didn't manifest until puberty. The gift has been in my family for generations." All three of her table companions gave her startled looks.

"And they could all do… what you do?" Steve asked incredulously. Nyssa shrugged.

"Variations on a theme. I don't know a lot of details. Most of my family history I got from letters from my grandmother after she passed away. Sometimes holding respected positions of wisdom, sometimes in power, sometimes close to power… sometimes hunted as witches or heretics." She smiled at their still disbelieving expressions. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," she quoted. Steve's face brightened.

"I got that reference," he said.

"Wait," Bucky said. "So there are more people out there who can… do what you do?" Nyssa looked at him a moment, then shook her head and looked down.

"Not anymore," she said softly. "I am the last. The bloodline dies with me." Nyssa sighed, then she looked back at Sharon, her expression serious. "I trust, Sharon, that this information will not be making its way into my CIA file?" she said, her light tone belying her serious expression. Sharon glanced at her in surprise.

"Which part?" she asked evasively.

"Any of it, hopefully. If it gets out that I was Vanessa, I imagine there are still quite a few people who would like to see me dead. Some of whom have already served their sentences. As for the rest…" She hesitated, then sighed. "Well, that may not be secret much longer anyway." Chewing on her bottom lip for a moment, she glanced at Bucky. "But I'm being rude, dominating the conversation. Steve, how is your painting going?" Steve looked startled at the sudden change of topic.

"Ah, good, it's good. Though I'm starting to run out of space in my quarters to keep them." He looked slightly embarrassed, as if he'd been caught by the teacher for doodling when he should have been paying attention. Nyssa smiled encouragingly at him.

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd love to take a look, maybe buy a couple to take home with me," she said. Steve raised his eyebrows at her incredulously.

"Well, maybe… yeah, there's a few I wouldn't mind showing you. It'll be my first sale as an artist," he mused, half to himself.

"Starting your new career at the ripe old age of 99," teased Bucky.

"Maybe I should call you Grandpa Moses," Sharon suggested with a playful smile. Steve attempted a glare at both of them, but it turned into a bashful grin instead.

"I don't think I'd call it a career yet," he said. "It's just a hobby."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with hobbies," Nyssa said, "Hobbies are good. They feed the soul. Do you have a hobby, Sharon?"

"Photography," the blonde woman said, while Steve answered for her, "Serial killers." She shot Steve an exasperated look.

"What?" he said defensively. "You have an entire collection of biographies of serial killers and books about how the brain of a serial killer works."

"Which, given my chosen career, is useful information," Sharon protested. "But I wouldn't call it a hobby."

"Why not?" Steve asked. Sharon looked at him archly.

"Well, for one thing, that would be a little weird."

"You're dating a 99-year-old super soldier who used to be sweet on your aunt, and you think studying serial killers is a little weird?" Bucky pointed out. Sharon raised an eyebrow at him.

"Fine then, what's your hobby?" she asked him. Steve held a calming hand up.

"It's okay, Buck. You haven't really had time to develop a hobby yet."

"I have a hobby, Steve," Bucky protested.

"Brooding isn't a hobby, Buck."

" _Пошёл в жо́пу!_  I do have a hobby!" It had been a long time since Steve had seen Bucky quite this animated. "Sam and I have been working on restoring a car. As a matter of fact, we're almost done with it." The completion of their project was tantalizingly close, and when he stopped to think about it, the thought made him both excited and sad. He had really enjoyed using his hands – well, hand – to build and repair something rather than to destroy.

"So that's what you guys have been up to," Steve mused. Bucky nodded.

"How about you, Nyssa?" he asked. "What are your hobbies?"

"Oh, I think there was something about a hobby in the Times article!" Sharon said, snapping her fingers. "Something about… talking down suicidal people. Off of bridges and buildings and whatnot." Nyssa sighed and shook her head.

"More creative license. I wouldn't call it a hobby. It's not an everyday thing," she protested.

"But more than just once or twice," Sharon pointed out.

"Maybe three or four times," Nyssa said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "Um, per month." For the – third? Fourth? She was losing track - time that evening, she was the focus of startled looks. "Look, it's a big city. Lots of people are struggling. When you can feel what I feel, sense what I sense, someone who wants to end their life… it would be like someone walking down the street next to you with a bleeding, open wound. I can't ignore it. I can't not help. But I wouldn't call it a hobby."

"So then, your hobby is…?" Bucky prompted. She smiled over at him.

"I love music. Especially live music." She sat up a little straighter in her chair, gesturing with her hands. "One of the things I love about living in New York City, is that there are so many artists and performers that are drawn to it. At any given time, there are concerts in the Park, concerts in concert halls, performers in the subway, buskers on street corners. There's a special kind of… magic that happens when people listen to music. And when you pack thousands of them into the same space, and let the music weave connection between them, lift their spirits and bind their energy together until it's just this… tidal wave of humanity, rising up and soaring in an ocean of sound and emotion…" She paused, hands raised and a faraway look in her eye, as if caught up in a memory. Then she glanced around at her dinner companions with a wide grin. "There's nothing else like it." Bucky suddenly felt the urge to try and learn an instrument. Maybe after he had his other arm back…

The doors on the other end of the room opened, and the palace staff emerged once again to do their dance around the table, making the dinner plates vanish and replacing it with dessert. One of them topped off all their wine glasses, only Bucky noticed that Nyssa hadn't touched hers. He shot her a questioning glance.

"I don't drink. You don't want me drunk," she whispered. "Side effects are contagious." He raised his eyebrows.

"That could be fun," he mused. She gave him a mock-scandalized look and took a bite of her dessert.

* * *

It seemed only moments later that Bucky was walking with her back to her door.

"I had… a really good time tonight," he said as they slowly strolled down the hall.

"Did you?" she asked, laughing lightly. "You didn't say much, while I rambled on about my tragic backstory." Her dramatic, exaggerated tone mocked her words.

"It was… enlightening," he replied. She glanced up at him, but didn't say anything. He frowned down at his feet. "I think I understand more, why you do what you do. Why you wanted to help me. Though I'm still not clear why you decided dinner tonight was when you wanted to tell me. To tell… everyone."

"I trust you and Steve. Steve trusts Sharon. It was better to have you all know the truth than to let her keep imagining I was up to some nefarious plan and putting doubts in Steve's head about letting me come here, letting me help you. He's had enough reasons to question himself lately without inventing more." She smiled, half to herself. "I also kind of wanted to get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid." They reached her door, and she stopped, turning her back to it. "You've trusted me with all of your secrets, Bucky. I don't intend to keep any from you. I know it's a lot. I've led a… complicated life." He stepped closer to her, blue eyes intent on hers, and she was suddenly very aware of his proximity, his broad shoulders, the masculine scent of him.

"It is a lot," he agreed. "You've been through a lot. More than what you said outright."

"I didn't leave anything major out," she protested. He shook his head.

"That's not what I'm saying." He was silent a moment, his eyes stormy blue as he searched for the words. "I used to watch Steve sketch, way back when. Same thing with every picture. Broad strokes first, get an outline. Details later. You've given me a rough sketch of a… captivating portrait. But I'd like to see more of the picture." He reached up hesitantly, his fingers tracing along her cheek. "At least another date's worth?" He punctuated the question with a hopeful half-smile. Nyssa gently covered the hand on her cheek with hers and smiled back.

"I'd like that," she said softly. He leaned in and lightly pressed his lips to hers. It started out as a proper good night kiss, but then she made a little noise, her lips parting as she leaned into him. She tasted of the evening's dessert and promises, and suddenly he wanted more than just a kiss. Straightening up, he ended the kiss, brushing a stray lock of hair back from her face. Her cheeks were flushed, so evidently the rush he felt hadn't been one-sided.

"Do you know how long I've been wanting to do that?" he murmured.

"Since the morning you invited me to breakfast," she answered, her eyes twinkling at him. "But that was rhetorical, wasn't it?" He gave her a look of consternation.

"So, all along, you've known that I was – "

"That you were conflicted, yes." There was no shame in her gaze. "That was something you needed to work out on your own. I wasn't about to answer a question that you weren't ready to ask yet." She took his hand in both of hers. "As for the next date, I have a couple movies that I brought with me when I first got here. I didn't know what entertainment options would be in Wakanda. We could have a more low-key night, not worry about getting all dressed up, get you caught up on a little popular culture." She felt the hesitation in him, knowing it was still himself he didn't quite trust. "If you like, we can invite your…"  _Chaperones. Training wheels._ "...friends again. Make it another double date. I'll make popcorn." He grinned lopsidedly at her.

"That sounds… very nice."


	19. The Best and Worst ideas

For once, Bucky was not silent as he set his tray down at the table at breakfast. He leaned across Steve's still-empty seat, eyeballing the eggs on Sam's plate.

"Hey, Birdboy," he said with a smirk, "isn't that technically cannibalism?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"You're hilarious," he responded dryly. Wanda giggled, and Bucky raised his eyebrows and pointed his fork at her as evidence, never taking his gaze from Sam, who shook his head. "You keep it up, maybe I won't let you help with the car today," he said. "Which would be a shame, because we should be able to take it for a test drive."

"Well, maybe you can just install that new starter all by yourself, then," Bucky shot back. "Good luck, though. The instructions that came with it are in Italian."

"Oh, but  _you_  can read Italian," Sam retorted sarcastically.

" _Certo che posso,"_ Bucky responded.  _"Sei un rompicoglioni."_

"Do I need to split you two up?" Steve asked as he sat down at his usual seat in the middle of the two. Scott laughed.

"Don't make me turn this car around!" he said jokingly. Steve and Bucky both gave him blank looks. "You know, because it's like he's the dad, and you're fighting in the backseat…" He trailed off as they both continued to stare at him. "You know what, never mind." Sam snorted and took another bite of his eggs.

* * *

Two hours later, Bucky was beginning to consider that it might have been better to let Sam kick him off the project. He was flat on his back under the car, rattling around the transmission case with a ratcheting socket wrench, attempting to encourage the old starter to come out of its housing with a blistering stream of Russian invective.

"Does that help?" Sam asked teasingly. "Do the parts understand Russian?"

"Helps my motivation," Bucky replied. "You know, it would have made more sense to do this before we installed the new exhaust system. Now we have to take that apart, rip out the old starter, install the new starter, then put the exhaust back together."

"Exhaust came in last week. Starter didn't arrive 'til yesterday." He could almost hear the shrug in Sam's voice. He sighed, then grunted and muttered Russian under his breath as he continued to loosen the obstinate bolts holding the starter in place. The last one bounced off his forehead as it came loose, and he cast aspersions on its intelligence and its parentage before turning his attention back to the starter, which was still stubbornly nestled into the undercarriage of the vehicle. He stuck the end of the wrench in the gap to try to pry it loose, and it abruptly came free. He tried to dodge, but the heavy part glanced off his temple. He saw stars for a moment, and with a growl pushed himself out from under the car, wiping away the blood that was starting to trickle down the side of his face.

"What are you… oh, hell no. Get over here, you are not allowed to bleed on my car," Sam chided. He was already unpacking the first aid kit that he kept stashed by the door. Bucky gave him a sideways glance, but let him dab at the bleeding gash with some clean gauze. "Hold that on there," Sam instructed. "Enough pressure to stop the bleeding."

"It's not my first injury, Wilson," Bucky grumbled, but obediently held the gauze in place.

"Did you hear me say it was? Shut up and let me take a look." Sam gingerly peeled the gauze back and assessed the wound. "Well, the good news is, I don't think you're going to need stitches."

"What's the bad news?" Bucky asked.

"You're still stuck with the same face. Hold on, I'm going to at least get it covered so it doesn't get infected." Bucky held still while Sam applied a small bandage, watching the other man out of the corner of his eye. "Do you want to go to the infirmary and let them patch you up properly? I'd understand. I'd never let you hear the end of it, but I'd understand."

"I don't think that's necessary," Bucky replied, and gestured to the car. "We're so close to being done. I'm not about to let a little cut stop me." Sam finished patching him up and stepped back, putting the extra supplies back in the kit. Bucky stood up and surveyed the car. "I will let you put the new starter in, though."

* * *

"All right, moment of truth." Sam stepped on the clutch and the brake at the same time, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine complained for a few seconds, then roared to life. The two men whooped in celebration, and Sam stuck his hand out the rolled-down window, palm out. Bucky just stared at it for a moment, and Sam chuckled. "Put your hand out like that," he instructed. Bucky did so, and was startled when Sam slapped his palm with an open hand. "Now, up high." Sam held his hand up, and Bucky imitated the gesture, slapping their palms together again. "That's it. Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks. Now, get in, old dog. Let's see how she runs. And if she can make it that far, I know a guy who'll give us a good deal on a sweet paint job." Bucky glanced over at him as he settled into the passenger seat.

"What color?" he asked. Sam shrugged.

"Hadn't completely decided. Red is popular, but every midlife crisis jerk has a red sports car. White looks dirty really fast. Blue… maybe."

"You could go with red, white  _and_  blue," Bucky suggested, and then grinned. "Then you could call it…"

"No, no, no," Sam interrupted him, trying to cut him off.

"Captain Americar," Bucky finished triumphantly. Sam shook his head and put the car in gear.

"That might be the dumbest idea you've had yet today." Bucky scoffed as they started to drive.

"Pretty sure dropping that starter on my face was the dumbest idea today," he grumbled.

"Yeah, see? Two dumb ideas, and it's only 1400. You might be going for a record."

* * *

Nyssa opened the door to Bucky's knock, her face alight at seeing him. He was pretty sure this was his best idea of the day. He smiled back, freshly washed and shaved and dressed in one of Steve's nicer shirts and a pair of jeans. She was wearing a plum colored sleeveless top and khaki-colored shorts, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. A few soft tendrils had escaped and curled softly around her face.

"Look at you," she said, her smile radiant. "Didn't I say this was going to be casual?"

"You did, I just… ah…" Bucky started to stammer, then subsided as she took his hand.

"You look very dashing," she assured him. "Now I just feel a bit… underdressed."

"No, you look lovely," he insisted, raising her hand to his lips. The soft pink in her cheeks turned a deep rose color, and she took a step back into her room, leading him past the threshold. The wall opposite the couch was a large viewing screen, an image of a mountain and stars frozen on it, and he wondered vaguely where that had been the last time he was in her quarters. She caught his glance and handed him a thin, rectangular box.

"I thought you might like this one. It's set in late 1930s and does have Nazis in it, but it's not a war movie, more action/adventure. Then I thought you might not like it… for the same reasons," she said sheepishly. He looked the box over, reading both the back and the front, then shrugged.

"I think it looks alright," he said. "Of course, I haven't seen a picture in several decades, so…" He shrugged again and handed it back to her.

"I was just starting on making the popcorn," she explained, going over to the kitchenette. "Do you want anything to drink? It's a bit late for coffee, but I have water, tea, and something that Clint dropped off earlier. I think it's like beer, but I haven't tried it." She grabbed the beverages she referred to out of the little fridge.

"I thought you didn't drink," Bucky pointed out, eyebrow raised. She grinned.

"I don't. But I do accept thank you gifts, especially when it means a lot to the person giving it. Besides, I knew I was having company tonight, so why not?" She frowned down at one of the cans. "Apparently, this is both beer and coffee, because of course, it's Clint. So if you're feeling adventurous, help yourself." He eyed the can she set on the table suspiciously.

"Maybe later," he said, taking a step closer to her. She turned towards him, and he gently brushed a stray hair out of her face, his thumb tracing along the edge of her cheekbone, the outline of her mouth. She lifted her face towards him as his fingers tangled in the stray hairs at the nape of her neck, and then his mouth found hers. She leaned into him, her slender frame warm and soft and inviting, and he felt her hands graze along his ribcage and trace up his back, sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

"Aren't we expecting company?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He hesitated to answer, not wanting her to step away. "I mean, I need to know how much popcorn I should make." Her tone was playful. Before he could answer her question, there was a knock on the door. She extricated herself from his arms and went to go answer it.

Sharon was somewhat more excited about the alcoholic offering than the rest of them. "I've been wanting to try that one! It's supposed to be good." Steve seemed more confused than anything else.

"So it's coffee but it's also beer? When do you drink it, in the morning or in the evening? Does it relax you, or…?" Nyssa shrugged at him.

"My best guess, it's for when you want to have lots of energy for stupid drunken antics," she quipped. "I hear it's the latest fad."

"Steve doesn't need beer to do stupid things," Bucky pointed out. "And he always has energy for it." Steve gave him a dirty look, but otherwise pointedly ignored the comment. They all settled on the couch, and Nyssa started the movie.

"You'll like this one, Steve," she commented. "He also punches Nazis." This drew a chuckle from both Steve and Sharon. Nyssa sat down next to Bucky, who was sitting on the left side of the couch. He smiled at her, then turned his attention back to the screen, where the movie was starting. She had half-expected him to try to put his arm around her, but he didn't make any move to do so. She nestled in next to him instead, reaching up and tucking a hand around his bicep. He tensed, and she caught a brief memory of him being pushed into his chair in preparation for torture, the metal restraint clamping down around his arm right where her hand was resting. She pulled her hand back as if it had burned her, settling her hands in her lap instead and giving him an apologetic glance. He didn't seem to notice, looking straight ahead at the movie, but the tension remained in his jaw.

Halfway through the movie, she got up to refill the popcorn bowl. As she passed behind Bucky, she let her hand linger briefly on his shoulder at the base of his neck, and was astonished, though not entirely shocked, at the knots of tension she felt there. After sitting back down next to him, she whispered a suggestion in his ear. He glanced at her in surprise, and considered it for a couple minutes before sliding down and sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch. She moved over to sit behind him, her hands first flowing gently over stiff and sore neck and shoulders, then going deeper, encouraging knotted tissues to relax and muscles to loosen. She was hardly paying attention to the movie now, focused instead on her hands and on the pain receptors in Bucky's brain, blocking the worst of the unpleasant sensations as she coaxed years of tension and associated emotion out of muscles loathe to let go of it, reminding tense and tangled muscle fibers how to release, relax, ease. Before long, Bucky's head was resting against her arm, eyes half-closed, his shoulders visibly lower as his body let go of decades-old stress and pain. She saw Steve glance over at them a few times, but he didn't say anything.

There was some residual tightness, but it was stubborn and didn't seem like it was going anywhere tonight. Nyssa switched tactics and returned to a light, soothing touch, running her hands over his neck and shoulders, down his arm and onto his chest. He had been almost asleep, but stirred and sat up a little, rousing himself. Reaching up, he captured one of her hands in his, stopping it on its journey over his shoulder. He wasn't upset, she sensed, just finding it hard to focus. She stayed her hands and let him concentrate on the movie, though he still seemed more aware of her hands resting on him than he was of what was going on onscreen. Bending over, she kissed the top of his head, and he sighed.


	20. Something True

Almost before Bucky realized it, the end credits were rolling on the screen, and Steve and Sharon were getting ready to leave. Steve was joking about getting a hat like the main character's, and Sharon was talking about how good it would look on him. Taking a deep breath, he stretched out on the couch while Nyssa did a quick-clean of her quarters. He hadn't even realized how much tension had been in his neck and shoulders until she had worked her sorcery on them. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this relaxed, or really relaxed at all.

"So where did you learn that magic?" he asked. A chuckle came from the general direction of the kitchenette.

"Back home, I try to get a massage once a month," she explained. "I've… picked up a few things."

"Do you learn everything that way?" Once he said it, he realized it probably sounded kind of rude.

"More than I probably should," she admitted. She didn't seem offended by the question. "Though I still earned my doctorates like everyone else. I can pick up new information quickly, but I still have to write the papers." He heard her footsteps approaching the couch, and she leaned over the back to look down at him. "By the way, you might be a little sore tomorrow. Your muscles aren't going to be happy about being made to relax."

"I'll suffer through," he said glibly, staring up at her. Her eyes were a dark grey-green with amber streaks tonight, though he could have sworn they looked more blue-green at dinner yesterday. She smiled at him, and his attention was drawn to her mouth, her lips, and recalled what it felt like to kiss them. He shifted slightly on the couch, suddenly feeling something other than relaxed. "I suppose I should go, too," he said somewhat reluctantly.

"Do you want to go?" she asked, her tone light but expression serious. He considered the question for a moment.

"No," he finally answered. Her smile reached all the way to her dancing eyes.

"Then stay," she replied. His lips twitched.

"If I stay," he countered, "I can't promise that I'll behave myself."

"Oh, good." Her grin was teasing now.

"Didn't want to presume," he said. "Especially after what you've been through…" Something flickered in her eyes, but her smile didn't fade.

"That was a long time ago," she reminded him. "Nowadays, I don't do anything unless I want to." He raised his eyebrows at her. "Yes," she breathed, answering his silent inquiry. "I want to." He reached up for her, half-sitting as his lips found hers. He felt her hand bury itself in his hair, pulling him closer. At first, he went with her, opening his mouth fully to taste her, the need coiling in his belly. Then he leaned back, and she followed, tumbling over the back of the couch and landing squarely on his chest. He grunted softly, and she laughed into his mouth, her arms drawing him closer. He was lost for a moment in the taste of her, achingly aware of her body pressed against his. He ran his hand down her back, tracing the curve of her butt then cupping it to pull her closer. He was rewarded by a shiver and a moan, which only served to fan the flames. Gasping, she suddenly broke contact, pulling her head back to look at him with cheeks flushed crimson.

"Do you want to make out like teenagers on the couch all night?" she asked. "Otherwise, there's a perfectly good bed right over there." She moved her head in that direction. Making a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a growl, he captured her mouth in his again, kissing her thoroughly as he swung his legs down from the couch and stood up, carrying her towards the bedroom. She wrapped her legs around his hips and arms around his neck, keeping herself pressed close to him as he took staggering steps towards the bedroom, the unsteadiness due more to distraction than any physical issue. He'd expected her to be light, given her stature, and she was, but she did not feel fragile in his arms. There was unexpected strength in the limbs wrapped around his body and the frame pressed against his torso. He found the bed and let his hand slide up from supporting her to the small of her back, tracing the flare of her hips, the curves of a body smaller, softer and more feminine than his own. He felt her hands traveling under his shirt, skimming the sensitive skin along the waistband of his jeans, making him gasp at the sensations that rushed through him at her touch. She caught the fabric in her hands and tugged upward, and he leaned back long enough to allow her to pull the garment out of the way between them. The shirt that had been neatly pressed earlier in the evening landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Nyssa made an appreciative noise, running her hands up his well-muscled abdomen and over his chest, lingering a moment on the scar tissue along the edge of the metal plate that was what remained of his arm. He closed his eyes. He had started to become accustomed to her touch, full of gentleness, care and compassion. But this was different, being caressed so intimately and tenderly, her fingertips leaving skin and nerves tingling. She shifted to her knees on the edge of the bed, her lips brushing butterfly-soft down his jaw, along his neck, sending ripples of sensation echoing through him, igniting feelings he'd believed long since dormant and frozen. He forgot for a moment about kissing her back, standing awash in desire and emotion as her hands and mouth explored his body. She paused, reaching up to brush his cheek with a gentle hand.

"Hey, you okay?" she whispered. He opened his eyes and blinked down at her.

"Okay… wouldn't be the word I'd use," he murmured back. She dropped her hand to the base of his neck, though her fingers still made the gesture a caress.

"We can stop, if you want. I can stop," she offered. His eyes locked with hers, dark blue on her honey green.

"Please don't." The words were a plea, but his tone was not. With a smile, she pulled him closer again, capturing his willing mouth in hers in a kiss that took his breath away. Then she moved on, her lips soft against the hard line of his jaw, pausing to tease the pulse point next to his throat, proof of the effect she was having on him. His breath was catching in his throat, the scent of her making him dizzy. He found the clip that still held her hair back and pulled it out carefully as her lips left a trail of fire across his chest. Her hair tumbled free over her shoulders, and he smoothed a stray lock away from her face, then pulled her back up and kissed her deeply, pressing her back on the bed. She moaned against his mouth as he traced the curves of her body through her shirt.

"You are wearing entirely too much clothing," he whispered in her ear as he tugged up on the edge of her shirt. She let out a shaky laugh and helped, stripping the shirt off over her head and tossing it on the floor near his. Then she lay back on the bed, watching him expectantly. He scanned down her body, drawing his hand down her side.

Then he stopped, and looked again.

Her lower abdomen was a riot of scars, crisscrossing her flesh in violent swaths, emerging from the waistband of her shorts and streaking up towards the bottom of her ribcage. The scars were highlighted in gold, and in between were images of different birds in flight: a hawk, a phoenix, a peacock, a dove and a nightingale perched on a nest, a flutter of swallows and the shadowy outlines of at least a dozen more. In the background, the pink shadow of a mountain gave it a dramatic backdrop against her porcelain skin. The effect was of a vase he might see in a museum, but one that had been shattered and then mended with gold. He glanced up at her and realized she was still watching him carefully. Waiting for his reaction. Raising his eyebrows at her, he traced the scars lightly, gently.

"Kintsugi," he noted. She nodded,

"A way of reclaiming my body, after…" She let her voice trail off, dismissing the details with a wave of her hand.

"Who did this to you?" he asked.

"The ink, or the scars?" she asked glibly. "I have a great tattoo artist, if you want her number." He stared at her levelly, and her levity vanished. "His name isn't important," she said softly. Scooting back on the bed, she turned so her head was resting on the pillow and patted the bed next to her. Bucky lay down on his side facing her. His hand was drawn again to the scars and the art that she had turned them into.

"He was… an enforcer, of sorts, for the people who took me," she continued. "Girls got out of line, he punished them. Girls escaped, he either got them back or made sure they didn't live to tell who took them. I escaped, he came after me. Tried to kill me…. I thought he had, thought I was dead. He left me bleeding out behind a dumpster, stabbed sixteen times."

"Jesus." One stab, placed just right, could be enough to kill someone. Some of his more resilient targets, he'd had to stab three or four times before they succumbed. Sixteen was… well, a whole new level of obscene. And somehow, she'd still survived… Bucky frowned down at the scarring, tracing the marks. Some of them – many of them – had been made by a knife, short blade, probably similar to the one he had favored as the Winter Soldier. Others were longer, thinner, surgical. He removed those in his mind's eye, looking at the stab wounds. A word suddenly popped into his head.  _Небрежный_ _._   _Sloppy._ She raised her eyebrows at him, suddenly smirking.

"Oh, quite sloppy, I imagine. He wasn't interested in efficiency, he wanted to punish me for eluding him for so long. He was a sadist of the worst kind. He wanted me to suffer. Which is probably what ended up saving my life, because it gave… someone time to find me, get me to a hospital."

"So why do you protect him?" Bucky asked, feeling a flare of rage towards the man who had caused her such harm. She shook her head slightly at him.

"I'm not protecting him. I won't speak his name because he deserves to be forgotten. They sentenced him to seven consecutive life sentences without opportunity for parole, but he only lasted seven months before he was found dead in his cell. As it turns out, even hardened convicts don't like men who hurt little girls. I can't say I was terribly sad when I heard the news. Thanks to him, I'm a few internal organs short, and this," she gestured to the scars on her abdomen, "is quite the mood-killer, as you can see." Bucky traced a couple of the longer scars from her midline down to the edge of her pants, then across to her hip. She drew in a quick breath, and he glanced at her, worried he had hurt her somehow, but her expression was not one of pain.

"You turned it into something beautiful," he said. "It's too bad more people can't see it and appreciate it." She smiled at him.

"It isn't for everyone else," she said. "It's for me." She reached out and lightly ran her fingers up his arm, across his shoulder, landing lightly on his sternum. "And for the few I choose to share it with." He caught her hand with his own, raised it to his mouth and kissed the fingertips that had caressed him, then gently pressed her onto her back. Lowering his head to her abdomen, he pressed his lips to her skin, kissing his way across the strange landscape. He heard her sharp intake of breath, a whispered expletive that sounded more like a prayer, and felt her fingers tangling in his hair. His mouth found the cloth border and he tugged her shorts down impatiently.

"Wait, wait," she gasped, her hand tightening in his hair. He looked up at her. "I want… Mmm. I don't drop my walls very often. Not completely. I want to now, but… it can be a little intense."

"Nothing you haven't seen before," he pointed out. She chuckled softly.

"Not intense for me," she corrected him. "I mean, it is, but I'm used to it. For… whoever I'm with." Bucky regarded her for a moment.

"So you're asking my permission," he realized out loud. She nodded.

"It's an intimacy that that goes beyond just being naked together. I can understand why you… might not want that." Her hand left his hair, traced along his cheek. "But I meant what I said about not keeping things from you."

"Why?" he asked. She smiled at him, but for once the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I've been hiding so long. Who I am, what I can do. Who I used to be. Maybe I'm just tired of hiding. I want something real, something true, for once in my life." His chest constricted at her words. Real and true were not things he associated with himself, not by a long shot. Somehow, inexplicably, it seemed she did. He lowered himself to his elbow, careful not to put his full weight on her as he captured her mouth in a wordless reply. She clung to him, her mouth meeting his greedily, breathless when he drew away. "So that's a yes?" she asked.  _Just to be sure._  He nodded once, a short jerk of his head. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. Suddenly he felt enveloped by her presence, was aware not just of her body beneath him but of the rising tide of her desire, similar to but distinct from his own. Just as present, tempering her passion, was a hesitance. As he met her eyes, he realized there was a thread of fear and uncertainty weaving through both. It surprised him, considering the air of calm confidence she usually projected. Dropping his head down, he kissed her again, then went lower, kissing his way down her neck, over her abdomen, feeling her hesitance and uncertainty wash away as her excitement rose. He reached the waistline of her shorts again and tugged. There was no mumbled protest this time, only a flare of enthusiasm and impatience, and her hips lifted to allow him to remove the clothing that still separated them. He nuzzled along her inner thigh, enjoying how she gasped and the surge of need that invaded his consciousness. He could feel how she was craving his touch, and he was happy to fulfill it. He abandoned thought and immersed himself in the taste and touch and feel of her, worshiping her body with hands and mouth, reveling in her wordless response until they were both swept up in the storm of her climax.

As that subsided, he rested his head on her torso, listening to her pounding heart and feeling her ribcage heave as she gasped for breath. A swell of gratitude and appreciation rose in him – no, wait, that had come from her. She tangled her fingers affectionately in his hair and smiled down at him when he glanced up at her. He realized that he was still wearing his jeans, which had become quite uncomfortably tight. No sooner had he thought of them when she was rolling him over onto his back, her hands quickly working to divest him of the last of his clothes. His jeans landed on the floor near the rest of their clothes, and then all coherent thought ceased as she found all the intimate places of him, washing away distant memories of pain in a flood of pleasure, exquisite and overwhelming. He groaned at the feel of her mouth on him, increasing his ardor to fever pitch. Then he was above her and inside her, surrounded by her warmth as her passion echoed back to his, increasing it. He stared down at her, eyes intent on his and tousled hair spilling across the pillow like a dark halo, committing the moment to memory. Then memory and thought and feeling all dissolved in a sea of sensation, white-hot passion gone supernova. Words ceased to be, and the two of them drifted on an ocean of a world that consisted only of them, bodies awash in awareness of each other, nerves tingling, hunger satiated for the moment. He slowly became aware of a new feeling, warm and meaningful and all-encompassing, swelling inside him, and an answering echo in her. He closed his eyes, not wanting to label it just yet, not wanting the moment to end.

* * *

Words returned a little while later, as they rested in the bed, her nestled against his chest as if she belonged there, his arm holding her close. She took a deep breath, then sighed happily, snuggling closer. He tightened his arm around her briefly, bending his head to bury his face in her hair.

"Mm, the things you do to me," he mumbled. He felt more than saw her smile.

"I could say the same," she replied, tracing patterns on his chest with light fingertips that sent his nerves tingling all over again. "I never would have guessed that you haven't done this since before the sexual revolution." He frowned at the wall in confusion.

"The what?" he asked, the image of lingerie-clad women wielding military-grade automatic weapons suddenly popping into his head. She suddenly started shaking, her face pressed against him, and he frowned down at her in concern, but then realized she was laughing. She lifted her head, the sound of her laughter filling the room.

"No, no, it was nothing like that. No weapons involved. Although…" she giggled again. "I'm pretty sure there are a few pornos that start out that way." She dissolved into laughter again, and this time he chuckled too. She suddenly sat upright. "Speaking of things you've missed, I have a gift for you." He looked at her questioningly. She climbed off the bed and vanished into the living room, not bothering to get dressed. Within moments, she was back, clutching a rectangular something to her chest. Climbing back into the bed next to him, she handed him a small rectangular object, smaller than the palm of his hand. "This is a music player," she informed him, and quickly showed him how the controls worked, how to use the connected cord to listen to the music. "But it isn't just random songs," she told him. "This is your crash course in modern music history. Mostly songs and artists that were culturally relevant, the ones everyone knows, with a few of my personal favorites thrown in. It was hard to narrow down, but I went with 100 from each decade, from 1930 to now." He looked from the small metal object in his hand to her, startled.

"There's almost a thousand songs on this little thing?" he asked in disbelief. She grinned at him.

"It holds 16 gigabytes, so technically you could fit a couple thousand more, if you want to," she told him. "I can show you how to make playlists later, but right now it's organized by decade. Of course, you're not really getting the history or the context by just listening to the songs, so…" She handed him a three-ring binder stuffed full of paper. He opened it up and glanced through it, seeing song titles, artist names, explanations, facts, relevant historical events. "American music history, the Cliffnotes version," she said with a grin. He paged through several pages, scanning through.

"You put a lot of work into this," he commented. She shrugged, still smiling.

"Slightly less labor intensive than my dissertation," she said dryly. "But a lot more fun." She lay down again beside him, propping her head up on one arm. "Back when I was… when I should have been in high school, it was kind of a cheesy thing you did when you were going out with someone. Burned them a CD of all your favorite songs, the ones you really liked, the ones that had meaning for you. I missed out on all of that, so… thank you for giving me a legitimate reason to do something like it." She smiled at him gratefully. He closed the binder, setting it aside for the moment, and looked at the music player again.

"You do realize I was still listening to music in the 30s and 40s, right?" he said. "I didn't miss those." She nodded.

"I know. I thought maybe sometimes you might like to listen to something familiar." Her expression was earnest. He smiled and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I actually have something for you, too," he said hesitantly. "It's not quite as amazing." Her eyes twinkled at him.

"Maybe you should let me be the judge of that," she replied. He chuckled softly and went to go find his pants. He scooped them up off the floor and set them on the bed so he could fish the necklace out of the pocket. He'd stopped by the stand after he and Sam had dropped the car off, and that pendant had still been on display, so he'd gotten it. In the soft light of the bedroom, the flashes of blue and green and purple were more understated, but still captivating. He handed it to Nyssa, who cradled it in her palm.

"It reminded me of you," he said honestly. She stared down at it, rocking her hand back and forth and watching the light play on its surface, then looked up at him with eyes shining.

"I love it, thank you." She put it on, the stone hanging down between her small but perfect breasts. Bucky climbed back into bed beside her, capturing her mouth with his, but it was more leisurely this time, just enjoying her lips against his. They both settled back, and he ran his hand down her body again. He paused on the birds tattooed across her belly.

"There are stories here," he commented, tracing the edges of the avian art.

"And you want to hear them?" she asked softly. He nodded.

"If you want to tell," he replied. She shifted in bed, adjusting her hips to be flat on her back, and looked down.

"Which one do you want to hear?" she asked. His fingers outlined the golden bird soaring at the center.

"This one first," he suggested. She touched it lightly, a sad smile curving her mouth.

"My first love," she said softly. An image bloomed in his mind of a young woman with skin the color of toasted cinnamon, wildly curly black hair, honey-green eyes and a rare but brilliant smile, and he realized she still had her mental barriers down. "She was a victim of the trafficking ring, too. They often moved us together. Men liked having the contrast, the variation. She was a lot taller than me, strong and brave and smart and so beautiful. To me, she was a goddess. When I finally decided I had to leave, I didn't want to leave her behind. She agreed to come with me, but we were going to split up, to make it harder to track us. But then he found me… she came back. She came back to save me."  _A dark night, rain pouring down, washing away the blood spreading on the pavement. The skitter of rats combing through the nearby garbage. Cold spreading through her body, slowly replacing the numbness, the pain centered in her abdomen, every movement agony. A face appearing above her, dark eyes wide, filling with tears._

" _Vanessa, oh god." The other girl knelt beside her, stripped off her shirt and pressed it into her stomach. "Hold that tight. Shit, girl, you need a hospital."_

" _Might be too late," she replied, voice hoarse and faint._

" _You shush. I'm not letting you go that easy," the girl scolded. "Don't you give up, neither." She was being lifted, carried, each step causing jarring pain that rocketed through her. The rain was coursing down the side of the street into the storm drains, the red lights reflecting in the water, and for a moment it seemed as if all the world was painted with her blood._

" _Yet who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?" she mumbled. The girl carrying her in powerful arms glanced down at her, worrying if she was delirious. She was getting very light-headed, but didn't think she was that far gone yet. "Macbeth," she clarified a little louder, and was rewarded with a snort of laughter._

" _Only you would quote Shakespeare while you're bleeding out in the street," came the exasperated response. The dizziness was becoming overwhelming, the darkness threatening to swallow her up, and she fell into a dark pit where nothing mattered anymore._

" _Vanessa, Vanessa. Can you hear me?" Consciousness returned with a roar and a wave of pain, and she looked up to see the red lighted banner of a hospital emergency room. Strong hands cupped her cheeks, and she looked up into dark eyes and a fearful face. She hadn't realized until that moment that her injuries looked every bit as awful as they felt._

" _You shouldn't have come back," Vanessa said, suddenly terrified of what would happen to her savior. "He'll find you. He'll kill you."_

" _Then you live," the goddess replied. "So there's someone to remember." Shouts from nearby told her they'd been spotted, and she slid back into oblivion._

"That was the last time I saw her." The images in Bucky's head faded at the sound of her voice, and he realized that she had shared the memory with him. He blinked and refocused on her. She smiled sadly, looking away. "It came out during the trial that he had found her, just as I feared he would." She fell silent for a moment, and he felt the cloud of guilt and regret attached to the memory. Then she pushed it away with a sigh. "But I did as she told me. I lived. And I remembered." She glanced at him, and there was a glint of pride in her eyes. "Her name was Phoenix." His eyebrows rose as another puzzle piece fell into place. He was silent a moment, processing the new information.

"So," he said finally. "You loved her. Now you're… with me?" She nodded.

"I perceive people a bit differently," she reminded him. "I'm attracted to… the shape of a person's heart, the strength of their spirit, the beauty of their soul. The physical form, gender included, is very secondary." A teasing smile curled her lips as she ran light fingers along his arm. "Though in your case, certainly a nice bonus." He half-smiled at the compliment. He remembered knowing that he was a decent-looking guy, once upon a time. It had been decades since he had thought about it. Good looks had no bearing on how well the Fist of Hydra could do his job. He touched the mismatched pair of birds perched on a nest.

"And these… your parents?" he guessed. She nodded.

"My father was a musician," she said, touching the nightingale. "He had some local success, never really became famous, but that wasn't what he was looking for, anyway. I got my love of music from him. He was the gentlest man I've ever known. I inherited my gift from him. He had an instant empathy for everyone. He saw those who were invisible to others – the homeless, the disabled, the outcasts. One of his favorite things to do was to go to a park, or find a street corner, or someplace where people would be walking around and just play. Usually guitar, but some days he'd bring a violin or another instrument. He'd always sing. Sometimes he'd let me tag along.  _A tiny girl with hair pulled back in pigtails, dancing joyfully to her father's music, bringing smiles to those who watched. A young voice harmonizing with a strong, older tenor._ He'd watch the passersby, and he would play exactly what they needed to hear. I would watch them, too, and they would just be transformed. Dad would put his hat out, or the guitar case out, and after a few hours, it would be filled with money. And then on the way home, he would find someone who needed it, or several someones, and he'd give it to them. He didn't do it for the money. We didn't really need it. My mother earned enough to cover bills, my grandmother was wealthy, and he was her only son. Grandma Bea doted on him, though she didn't always approve of his choices."

Her fingers touched lightly on the peacock, then moved over to the dove. "My mother was one of the choices she didn't approve of. My mom adored my father, but sometimes got a little frustrated that he didn't seem to take life seriously enough. She was practical, analytical, liked science, a rational explanation for everything. My mother had worked hard all her life, and continued to work even though technically she probably didn't have to. She was a nurse. She did it because she loved it, and it gave her purpose, and I'm sure she didn't like the idea of being dependent on my grandmother for money. She was the main breadwinner, and would only accept the occasional gift from Nana, usually around holidays. Otherwise, she said there were too many strings attached. My grandmother didn't like her at all, didn't trust her. She forbade my father from telling her the truth about his gifts, on pain of losing her financial support. He defied her enough to marry Mom, but not enough to give up his way of life. It wasn't until my grandmother died that he confessed to my mother what he could do. And she did what any sensible woman would do, when her husband tells her that he can hear other people's thoughts and influence their minds. She had him committed to a psych hospital."

Bucky looked at her in surprise. He hadn't expected the story to take such a turn. Nyssa raised her eyebrows at him. "To be fair, a lot of it does sound like a textbook psychotic break, and aside from science experiments like Captain America, she wasn't really aware of anyone with super powers. The more he protested and tried to prove it, the more convinced she was that he needed help. He spent a couple months in the hospital, and when he came home, he was… different. He didn't go to the park anymore. He stopped playing his guitar. He just seemed so sad all the time. Part of it was the medications, I think. They worked, to an extent: they blocked out everyone else, took away his ability to sense their thoughts and their emotions. Between that and his heartbreak that the person he loved most in the world rejected him when he told her his deepest secret, he just... gave up."  _A dark room, silence, then a gunshot. Running steps toward the sound, dread in the pit of her stomach, a body lying too-still on the floor, dark spatters on the wall, screaming that shattered the stillness, hands dragging her away…_ "I blamed Mom for a long time. Plus, I was thirteen, and puberty hit me like a ton of bricks, since my gift was emerging, too, and I had nobody to explain to me what the hell was going on. I hated her like it was an Olympic competition. She started thinking maybe I needed to be hospitalized, too, after a couple years of behavior that she couldn't rationally explain. So, I ran away. Which was how I ended up getting kidnapped. And you know how that part of the story ends." Bucky traced her scars contemplatively, then touched the hawk.

"And this one?" he asked, tracing a wing with a fingertip. She jumped slightly, suppressing a giggle.

"Is slightly ticklish," she gasped. He grinned and filed that information away for later. "Um, Elijah Taylor, US Marshall. He was assigned our case when I was in witness protection. At first, he just had my mom and I set up with alternate identities and a security detail. But then there was an attack, and my mom was killed. Now, very suddenly, he had a really screwed up 16-year-old orphan to protect. So he stepped up, became the security detail and a surrogate father all in one. And then teacher, too, after I begged him to teach me how to defend myself. He was surprised how fast I learned. He taught me how to fight, how to shoot, how to strategize… how to be a person again, instead of someone's property. He was a good man."

"So what happened to him?" asked Bucky. All the rest of her stories had ended in tragedy. She took a deep breath.

"Last I heard, he's still alive and well. Got married, I think. I hope she's as good as he deserves."

"You don't stay in touch?" he asked. She shook her head.

"That was the only part I regretted about faking my death. They knew he was associated with me, so he had to believe it too. I didn't want anyone coming after him. I didn't want anyone else to die because of me. So I haven't seen him since. And I can't." She sighed. "And I know that hurt him. But I thought it better that he grieved my loss than be killed for knowing me."

"But you took his name," Bucky pointed out. She smiled at him.

"Can't get much past you," she noted. "I had to pick a new name. I wanted one that meant something to me."

"And the rest of these?" he asked softly, running light fingers over the smaller birds, making her gasp again, then close her eyes.

"The ones I couldn't save," she whispered, covering his hand on her stomach with her own. He felt her sadness and regret rise, then ebb with a sigh. She opened her eyes and gave him a droll half-smile. "I'm a patchwork doll, made up of pieces of everyone I've ever lost, stitched together with memories and regrets."

"Not an angel?" Bucky teased. "Are you sure?" She narrowed her eyes at him, though the smile still on her lips kept the glare from being too severe.

"Don't you hang me in your heaven, James Buchanan Barnes," she said playfully, putting light emphasis on his name. "I've no desire to fall so far." His eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. Maybe it was the mention of her and heaven together, maybe it was the sound of his name on her lips, the name so long lost to him and only recently rediscovered.

"What if I promise to catch you?" he whispered, his expression earnest. She looked up at him with round eyes, speechless for the first time since he'd met her. Her lips parted, but no sound came out, and then he covered them with his in a kiss that was as tender as it was passionate. He shifted against her body again, his hand and mouth finding the spots that made her gasp and tremble and moan, and soon words once again became irrelevant for both of them.


	21. Extraordinary

He hadn't meant to fall asleep. There had been enough nights where he'd awakened swinging, sometimes accidentally smashing a table lamp or the wall, that he didn't consider himself safe to sleep in close proximity to someone else. But it was late, and they had exhausted themselves in happy exertion. He fell asleep with his arm curled around her protectively.

Sweet, blissful slumber suddenly gave way to menacing darkness, and he was again the Winter Soldier, arm and gun both gleaming dully in the moonlight as he tracked his target, his mission. He paced through shadows, melting from one to another soundlessly. Then suddenly, he was on a rooftop, looking through his scope at a head of blonde hair. His finger tightened on the trigger….

"Bucky," a female voice said from behind him. He startled and turned around. There had been nobody near him a moment ago. He blinked in confusion at the slight woman with dark hair who smiled at him. "Bucky," she said again. "You're dreaming."

"What?" he asked, and suddenly recognized her.

"Look at your arm," she said, pointing. He glanced down at his metal left arm, red star matte against shining silver. "This is a dream. It can be whatever you want it to be." He stared at her for a moment, considering her words, remembering the control he had in his mind during their sessions. Suddenly, they were no longer on a rooftop. They were standing on the rocks next to the secret lake that Nyssa had brought him to a few weeks and a lifetime ago. He took a deep breath, the feeling of constriction loosening in his chest.

"This is much nicer," Nyssa commented. Bucky sat down on the rock and dangled his bare feet in the water. It was much easier getting undressed in the dream, where he only had to think it.

"Remember talking to me about… making a place in my mind I could go to when things got to be too much?" She nodded, and he gestured around them. "This is it. Though I hadn't included you. Are you really here, or am I dreaming you?" he asked. She grinned at him.

"It's really me. I can leave if you want me to. Though it's a bit harder to control when I'm sleeping," she said. He shook his head.

"No. You can stay," he said. The last time they had come here, she had seated herself a couple meters away from him. Keeping appropriate boundaries, he supposed. This time, she sat down right next to him and leaned in. His arm automatically went around her, and she didn't protest. Instead, she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Peaceful here," he remarked. Peace had not been something he found often in his life before this. It was strange, but he was starting to acquire a taste for it.

"Mmm," Nyssa said in agreement, then gave him a sidelong glance. "You know what that means, don't you?" He raised an eyebrow and looked over at her.

"What?"

"This peace, here?" She gestured all around them. "That's in here." She laid her hand on his chest, and he felt his heart beating against her palm. "The mistake a lot of people make is in looking for peace outside themselves, trying to calm their surroundings. But true peace is being able to find that place in the midst of chaos." She looked up to the sky, which was growing dark as the sun set, painting the sky first with rosy pinks and bright yellows, then dark blue studded with millions of twinkling stars that reflected in the water below. What would have taken half an hour in real time spun through the heavens above them in minutes. "Though places like this are certainly a decent alternative." Taking a deep breath, she settled back against him, soaking in the tranquility and the quiet strength of the man beside her.

* * *

Bucky awakened in the soft light just before dawn. Nyssa was still nestled against him, curled up on her side, fast asleep. He lay quietly, watching her breathe, reflecting on the contrast between them. He, the one who forgot, and she, the one who remembered. Not only remembered, but etched her losses into her very skin, making her body a memorial to all she had left behind. A heavy load for one so small. No wonder she was so strong. Now, thanks to her, he also remembered.

He rose as the birds started singing outside, padding around her suite, lost in thought. It wasn't until he was pouring a cup of freshly-brewed coffee from the coffee machine that looked like it would not be out of place on a spaceship that he realized what he was doing. He frowned and replaced the pot on its burner, then carried the mug with him back to the bedroom.

"Good morning," he said quietly. She stirred and rolled onto her back, smiling at him as she stretched lazily, then half sat up. He held the mug out towards her. "I made you coffee." She received the cup with a surprised glance and took a careful sip of the hot elixir.

"Mmm, perfect," she said. "Thank you."

"I made you coffee," he repeated, a puzzled expression on his face. It wasn't so much that he'd been able to figure out the coffee maker, it was that it had been automatic, routine. As if he'd done it a million times before. She peeked at him over the rim of her coffee mug and lowered the cup slowly.

"Ah, yes, I probably should have mentioned that would be a side effect," she said sheepishly. "Don't worry, it will fade in time." He frowned at her.

"A side effect?" he repeated. She nodded.

"Of being in my head," she clarified. "Especially with the tandem dreaming. You know things that I know, now. Not everything, but you'll notice you understand some things in a way you didn't before. Sometimes random things that might make navigating life in this era a little easier, like how to work a coffee maker."

"But it goes away?" Bucky asked, somewhat disappointed at the idea. He already noticed he felt less like a fish out of water. This was possibly the most comfortable he'd been in this century. She grinned and took another sip of coffee.

"Well, most of it. If you use the knowledge, it will firm it up in your mind. You'll probably always know how to use that coffee maker, now." She shifted on the bed, scooting back closer to the headboard. "You'll have a stronger sense of me, too. Like you'll be able to find me in a crowd, or feel an echo of what I'm feeling. But that should diminish, too, in just a few days." He sat down on the bed near her feet, which she had pulled in under the blanket.

"Any other 'side effects' I should worry about?" he asked. She glanced away, looking a little like a scolded child, and set her coffee down on the nightstand.

"Not that anyone's ever told me," she said softly. He could feel her retreating, drawing away from him as his sense of her presence shrank. She toyed nervously with the pendant he had given her, still hanging down between her breasts. He covered her hand with his and leaned in to brush his lips against her forehead.

"I'm not mad," he reassured her. She looked up at him with a little smile, and he could feel her relief. The music player she had given him was on the nightstand next to the bed. He picked it up, still marveling that such a tiny device could hold as much music as she said. "Do you have a favorite song on here?" he asked. Her eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline.

"That would be like trying to choose a favorite child!" she protested. He chuckled at her scandalized expression. She looked at him thoughtfully. "There is one song I'm in the mood for, though." She took the music player from him and fiddled with it for a few moments, then picked up the ear buds and handed one to him. She put the other one in her ear, tethering herself to him. His ear filled with guitar played in a minor key. He closed his eyes, listening.

_So close no matter how far_

_Couldn't be much more from the heart_

_Forever trust in who we are_

_And nothing else matters_

His eyes popped open, and he saw that she was watching him intently, her face inches away from his. He leaned closer, resting his head against hers, and felt her arm come up to rest on his shoulder, her hand caressing the back of his neck as she swayed slowly to the music.

_Never opened myself this way_

_Life is ours, we live it our way_

_All these words I don't just say_

_And nothing else matters_

She tilted her head, her lips barely brushing his, one part teasing, one part hesitant. The featherlike caress combined with her proximity and the melancholy chords, rekindling his desire, and he dropped the music player on the bed to pull her close, his mouth capturing hers.

_Trust I seek and I find in you_

_Every day for us something new_

_Open mind for a different view_

_And nothing else matters_

She responded eagerly, leaning into him as the music swelled to a crescendo, then back as he nuzzled under her chin to press his lips against her throat, feeling the vibration against his mouth as she moaned breathlessly. He pressed his hand against the small of her back, pulling her towards him and lowering her to her back on the bed in one smooth motion. Her arms encircled his neck, pulling him down with her, and he followed willingly, burying himself in the scent and flavor of her. He reveled in the sounds she made as he recalled the places that made her dizzy with desire, his body moving with hers against a backdrop of electric guitars until they both found completion and collapsed into a jumble of sweat and ecstasy.

* * *

He was still lost in the moment, just savoring the feel of her body against his, when she laughed quietly into the crook of his neck.

"We are going to be late for breakfast if we don't get up soon," she noted.

"Thought this was breakfast," he mumbled into her hair. She laughed again.

"No, that would involve food," she said cheekily. "One cannot survive on coffee and sex alone." She raised her face to his with a smirk. "Not even really good sex." She kissed the tip of his nose, then climbed out of bed and sashayed over to the doorway, grabbing her robe. She paused and grinned over her shoulder at him. "I'm going to go shower. You are welcome to join me, if you like." Bucky looked up at the ceiling for a moment before deciding that, in fact, he did like.

The showers in Wakanda were, like so many other things, like nothing he had experienced before. Rather than water coming from a circular head on one end, there were hundreds of tiny holes in the ceiling over the basin that served as a tub, which was large enough to easily accommodate three or four people. A programmable panel on one end dictated the temperature of the water, as well as what pattern the water fell in. It was a little like being in a customizable rainstorm. He knew there were other options available, but he had only tried adjusting his to the size and temperature he preferred, then left it there. Luckily, the showers did remember their settings until they were adjusted again.

Nyssa had apparently played with the controls much more than he had. She had adjusted the configuration of the water to cover enough area for both of them to get wet at the same time, with space in the center for soaping up and escaping the water. An array of lights made the ceiling look like a starry sky, with rotating bursts of color that turned the water shades of blue and purple. Music filled the small room, though he wasn't certain where it was coming from. After a few moments, he smiled as he recognized the song as Moonlight Serenade, a song popular in the years before he had shipped out with the 107th. He'd actually danced to it the night of the Stark Expo, right before he left. She smiled over her shoulder at him as she stepped into the water, hips swaying in time to the music. He followed, tension easing from his shoulders as the hot water cascaded over muscles he was only now realizing were sore. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back into the spray, then opened them as he realized that Nyssa was humming along to the music. She took a step towards him, then away, and he realized that she was dancing. Her hand brushed by his, and he grabbed it impulsively, stepping in time with her, raising their linked hands up and twirling her through the purple-tinted rain. She spun, a smile spreading across her face, and ended up pressed against his chest.

"We should go dancing," he said suddenly.

"Isn't that what we're doing?" she asked.

"No, I mean, go out. Go dancing. There's a dance hall in the city," he said, recalling the place below the bar he and Steve had gone to. Nyssa's eyes twinkled at him.

"Are you sure you're ready for that?" she asked. "Those places have changed quite a bit since you were there last."

"How so?"

"First of all," she replied with a grin, "nobody calls them dance halls anymore. And they are very dark, and very loud, and very crowded. Are you sure you're up for that?"

"Would you enjoy it?" he asked. She looked up at him, smiles still in her eyes, and nodded wordlessly. "Then I… will be okay with it." He pulled her closer, hands skimming over her wet skin. There was something about her presence that steadied him, made him feel grounded, calmed the storm that raged under the surface, the one that he usually kept a tight lid on. "How do you keep it together so well, after everything?" The murmured question was more to himself than to her, but of course she still heard it anyway.

"Lots of practice," she answered. "Staying on top of my self-care. Meditation, yoga. Paying attention to what I put in my body, because it all has an effect. Loads and loads and loads of therapy. Building a network of friends and supports." She glanced up at him through the wet. "I won't lie, it's been a long, hard road, but I've come a long way. If you'd met me fifteen years ago, you would have found a very different person." They were still swaying to the music together, water making intricate patterns around their feet as they moved.

"If I'd met you fifteen years ago, I probably would have been trying to kill you," Bucky reminded her darkly.

"Fifteen years ago, I wouldn't have minded," she responded levelly. "I might have even thanked you." His eyes widened. She shrugged. "Some days are still hard. But I like to think I've come a long way. Though the whole "telepathy" thing doesn't make it a lot easier." Bucky gave her a questioning look. "With what I can do, I have to make sure I stay in control, or else it starts to control me. Can you imagine what I could do, if I were inclined to do damage rather than help people?"

"You could be the world's most dangerous spy," Bucky pointed out. "People wouldn't even have to talk to you for you to figure out their secrets. Put you in a room with a group of world leaders, you'd know enough to bring about the apocalypse. You'd be able to blackmail probably pretty much everyone in power. You could infiltrate the enemy and know their plans as soon as they did." Nyssa laughed in surprise.

"I think you might have thought about that even more than I have," she observed.

"But you don't do any of those things," he pointed out. "Or you haven't."

"With my particular talents, I was always going to be dealing with secrets," she admitted. "That part was unavoidable. But I would rather deal with the kind of secrets that allow people to start to heal once they are dragged into the light, than with the kind that can make nations fall." He raised his arm and she pirouetted out as the song ended, changing to another tune he recognized from the era he was most familiar with. She dropped his hand and curtsied, lifting an invisible skirt with a cheeky grin. "Thank you for the dance, good sir." Turning, she poured some shampoo into her hand and set about lathering her hair before she turned back towards him. "Abilities by themselves aren't good or evil; it's all in how you use them."

"And why," Bucky said softly, thinking regretfully of all the still-rotting skeletons in his proverbial closet. A pair of wet arms encircled his torso, and he looked down into her eyes.

"Our choices define us, but you didn't choose any of that," she reminded him. "It may be what you did, but it's not who you are."

"So, who am I, then?" he shot back. She smiled at him, unflappable as always.

"Whoever you choose to be," she said. "How long has it been since you had a dream?"

"Mostly I have nightmares," he replied somberly. "Aside from last night…"

"Not those kinds of dreams," she said. "A vision for how you want your future to be, something you want to accomplish someday. I know it's been a long time, but you're allowed to have those again now." He half-smiled at her words, though his brow knit together as he pondered them. A long time ago, he had had dreams. After he returned from the war, dreams of a family and settling down. Dreams of making something of himself. Dreams that had expired when he fell into a ravine and had his death and seventy years of his life stolen from him. He had gotten so used to living in the past, trying to remember the person he used to be, that he had almost forgotten there was a different way to live. The idea of the Winter Soldier as a family man seemed… laughably incongruous.

"I don't know," he admitted finally. "I used to think I would come home from the war and have a normal life. Now, I don't even know what that would look like."

"You dreamt of an ordinary life because you didn't realize you were meant to be extraordinary," she suggested. He blinked down at her, stunned by the idea. She smiled up at him. "There are no wrong answers, Bucky. That's the beauty of dreaming." He swayed with her for a moment, thinking of the future, but he kept being drawn back to the present moment. For once, there was no place or time he would rather be than where he was. She interrupted his reverie by moving out of his grasp, then turned towards him with a soapy washcloth. "I'll wash your back if you wash mine," she proposed, moving behind him. He had no objection, and closed his eyes as she traced soapy patterns across his shoulders, down his back, down his remaining arm that he still hadn't really figured out how to wash thoroughly. Even in this context, her touch was both thrilling and comforting at the same time, and he sighed contentedly. She circled back around in front of him, her fingers trailing along the muscles of his torso. "Your turn," she said, handing him the washcloth and turning so her back was to him. He made a few passes with the sudsy cloth, but found himself distracted by the feeling of her skin under his hand. He lowered his head and kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulders, drawing a surprised gasp and groan from her, and then completely forgot about the washcloth as she leaned back into him, enjoying his touch as much as he reveled in hers.

They ended up being too late for breakfast, after all.


	22. Promises, Promises

Nyssa donned her robe and threw together something for them to eat from what was already stocked in her kitchenette, and they ate at the small table amid comfortable conversation. In lieu of a robe, he had made do with a blanket wrapped around his waist. He made her laugh four separate times, and each time seemed as if he had won some contest, and her laughter was the prize. Bucky could still hardly believe that this extraordinary woman was spending time with him, and even seemed to care for him. After they were done eating, Nyssa cleared their plates, then came back and perched on his lap, twining her arms around his neck.

"You know," she said with a teasing smile, "we can't go on another date until we end this one." Bucky cocked his head to the side, considering her words.

"We could just make tonight an extension of this one and call it good," he proposed. She laughed again, and kissed him.

"Aren't you and Sam supposed to pick up the car today?" she reminded him. He heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"Oh, I suppose," he grunted grudgingly. Standing up, he went and grabbed his clothes from where they had landed on the floor the night before. Nyssa leaned back against the wall with a little smile on her face, watching him as he got dressed. He glanced at her quizzically as he donned his clothing as best he could with one arm. "Does it look as awkward as it feels?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Not at all. You've adapted very well," she said with a smile. "I was just admiring." He half-smiled wryly.

"I'll have to adapt again after tomorrow," he said, straightening his shirt. "Shuri said my new arm should be ready to, ah, install then."

"Well, that's good news," Nyssa said brightly. "Is that something you'll get to watch, or are they going to put you out for it?"

"I guess they have some protocols that they've figured out work for Steve, so they think they'll work for me, maybe with some minor tweaking," Bucky replied. "I'd rather not be conscious for it. They're going to be stripping out what they can of the old arm before they attach the new one."

"Sounds like pretty major surgery," Nyssa observed. "Are you nervous?" Bucky took a deep breath.

"Doctors and I… haven't been a good combination in the past," he said flatly. "But at least this time, it's my choice."

"You remember that, technically, I'm a doctor, too, right?" she reminded him. He gave her an apologetic smile.

"Present company being the exception, of course," he said softly. She stepped closer to him.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise to be there when you wake up?" she asked. He reached out and brushed his fingers against her cheek.

"Sure would beat the hell out of last time," he said, remembering lab coats, confusion and pain. She smiled at him.

"Then I promise that I will be." She leaned in and brushed his lips softly with hers. "And I'll see you tonight." With a broad grin, he grabbed the music player and binder that she had gifted him, kissed her on the forehead, and left.

* * *

He still wasn't sure his feet were touching the ground when he met up with Sam a short time later at the shop to pick up the car.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Sam quipped. "I wasn't sure you were going to show up for the big reveal."

"Are you kidding?" Bucky returned. "After all the time and effort I've put in, working on the car, putting up with you? I wouldn't miss it." They both fell silent as the vehicle they had worked so hard on came rolling towards them. Rather than any of the colors they had discussed, Sam had chosen a gleaming black, with stylized wings painted on the side in a dark red. The driver grinned at both of them proudly as he got out of the car. Bucky was starting to pick up some of the language, but the man was still talking too fast for him to understand more than a handful of words. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to understand very well, and reacted with surprise and disbelief. Bucky gave him a questioning look.

"Apparently, we got a few upgrades," Sam explained. "The paint is bullet-proof, scratch-proof, and fire resistant. He even put a treatment on the glass to do the same thing, although he says it's not quite as strong." Bucky raised his eyebrows, impressed. Sam shook the man's hand. " _Enkosi, Khuselwa,"_  he said. The man grinned, patted the hood of the car, added one last statement, tossed Sam the keys and left.

"What was that last comment?" Bucky asked. Sam grinned lopsidedly.

"Take care of her, and she'll take care of you," he translated. "Shall we?" He crossed over to the driver's side of the convertible.

"Hey, since you drove on the way here, maybe I could drive back?" Bucky suggested. Sam looked at him speculatively.

"You sure you can handle it?" he asked. "It's a manual transmission."

"There's another kind?" Bucky volleyed back. He'd heard of automatic transmissions, of course, but hadn't had an opportunity to drive one yet. From what he'd heard, it was easier. Sam chuckled and slowly handed the keys over.

"I guess, since you're asking this time and not tearing the steering wheel out of my hands," he said. Bucky gave him a hard look, but he seemed unperturbed. "I better not hear any gears grinding." Bucky didn't say anything, but got into the driver's seat and waited for Sam to sit down on the passenger's side. He glanced at Sam, a tiny smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, then shifted into gear and floored the accelerator. The tires squealed against the ground, and then they took off, accelerating quickly as Sam scrambled to buckle his seatbelt. Bucky let go of the wheel for half a second to shift, then grabbed the wheel again to navigate the curve in the road ahead of them. It was a minor adjustment without his other hand to hold the wheel steady, but he had confidence in his reflexes. Shift, steer, shift, steer, shift, steer. The speedometer passed 100 km/h in a little over 10 seconds, then crept higher, and Sam eyed Bucky warily. "The wings are just painted on, man. We are not gonna fly no matter how fast she goes."

"Just seeing what she can do," Bucky replied. They were cresting a hill, and he sped up, catching a few seconds of air as the road dropped down beneath them. The car bounced slightly as the wheels made contact with pavement again, and Bucky smiled. "Suspension seems solid now." Sam shook his head.

"You take 'drive it like you stole it' way too literally," he remarked. Bucky relented and let up on the gas, dropping from 150km/h to a slightly less alarming 120 as the palace came into view. There was no point in returning to the shed; there was no more work to be done on their little coupe. Bucky pointed the vehicle straight at the fence ringing the royal compound, then spun the wheel at the last minute, spinning the car 90 degrees and coming to a stop parallel to the fence. Sam raised his eyebrows at him. "Now you're just showing off." He held his hands up. "Okay, I get it. You can drive."

"Can I drive it tonight?" Bucky asked. Sam frowned at him.

"What? You want to borrow my car the very first day I have her?"

"Do you have plans?"

"I might! What, you got plans?"

"Yeah," Bucky said with a smile. "I've got a date." Sam gave him a disbelieving look.

"You have a date? With who?"

"Nyssa," Bucky replied. "We've actually been on a couple dates, but this is the first time we're going out of the palace. I just want to show her a good time."

"In  _my_  car," Sam emphasized. He stared at Bucky for a few moments, his expression unreadable.

"I promise, she won't even have a scratch," Bucky added. Sam snorted.

"Scratch proof," he reminded his friend. "She better not." He sighed and looked out the window. "You know what, fine. You can have her for the night. Just take care of her."

"Thanks." Bucky grinned at the dashboard. They sat in silence for a moment.

"So, you and Nyssa, huh?" Sam said. Bucky glanced over at him, his grin spreading even wider.

"Yeah. It's hard for me to believe, too."

"Did you forget the part where I told you it would be better to just leave that alone?" Sam reminded him. Bucky shook his head.

"I didn't forget. I just think you're wrong about her. You don't know her like I do."

"What, like in the biblical sense?" Sam asked carefully. Bucky gave him a scornful look.

"A gentleman doesn't tell," he protested, but the smug and satisfied expression that followed told Sam the answer anyway. Sam looked at him sideways.

"Oh, so you're a gentleman now?"

* * *

Steve knocked on the door to Bucky's room, then opened the door. The room was somewhat in disarray, with discarded shirts piled on the bed and a towel slung over the bathroom door. Bucky was nowhere in sight.

"In here," he heard Bucky's voice call, and crossed the room to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. Steve grinned at his friend, who had donned a shirt but not yet buttoned it up and was fussing with his hair in the mirror. He was humming – actually humming! – and the black cord of some earbuds trailed down from one ear. Bucky's reflection shot him a confused look. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just…" Steve shook his head. "Happiness looks good on you."

"Oh, is that what this is?" Bucky's smile was sardonic. "Hey, Steve, you never told me they named a whole music genre after you." Steve's grin turned in an expression of confusion. Bucky flipped a few pages in the three-ring binder open next to the sink and tapped a heading at the top that said "Punk" in large font. Steve shook his head, scoffing softly. Bucky smirked at him, then glanced around the room. "Sharon here?" Steve shook his head.

"She flew back to Germany this morning. You look like you have plans, though."

"Going dancing," Bucky said softly. Steve's grin widened. Bucky noticed that his friend had something tucked under his arm. "What's that?" Steve glanced down and pulled the small canvas out, holding it so that the wooden frame faced Bucky, leaving the image hidden.

"It occurred to me that you probably don't have any recent pictures of you," Steve hedged.

"Does surveillance footage count?" Bucky asked glibly. Steve snorted and shook his head. "Then no. I don't."

"Well, this is for you." Steve handed him the painting, which was on a 5x7 canvas. Bucky paused a moment, looking at it. Steve had captured a moment from the evening before, when Nyssa had been rubbing his shoulders. Bucky's head was tilted back in her lap, eyes half-closed but smiling, and she was smiling back down at him, hands resting for a moment on his chest. Bucky sighed, one side of his mouth twitching upwards. There was more peace and happiness in that picture than in seven decades previous.

"Thanks, Steve," he said, setting it carefully on the sink. "It's beautiful." Steve shrugged, his expression becoming bashful.

"Seemed like a moment worth remembering, is all."

* * *

Nyssa sensed someone entering her room before she got out of the shower, but deliberately decided not to rush. She finished, shut the water off, toweled dry and put her robe on before exiting the bathroom. She swallowed as she saw the man standing inside her door, arms folded over his chest and righteous anger simmering inside him.

"What can I do for you, Sam?" she asked softly.

"I want to know what kind of game you think you're playing," he said shortly. She shook her head.

"No games," she replied.

"That so?" he said. "Because I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be bound by the same code of ethics I was as a counselor. Or did they skip the section on boundaries in your curriculum?" She shook her head again, staring down at the floor.

"The oath is to do no harm," she said quietly. "Would it do more harm to say no to a man who has been denied the ability to ask for what he wants for decades, when he finally makes a request? Or to say yes and show him that he is worthy of love, and able to love? To show him what it's like to be treated with respect, by someone who cares for him?" Sam scoffed.

"What, like therapeutic dating? That's not a thing. We both know that's not a thing. Guidelines are pretty clear on this, Dr. Taylor. Less than a week is not even close to two years. And how do I know you're not just using some mind voodoo to make him think he's falling for you, get him to do whatever you want?" Nyssa laughed faintly, bitterly.

"Why would I have to do that when I could have just used the trigger words?" she asked. "But I set him free from them. I would never use my abilities that way. Love isn't love unless it's freely given." Sam's eyes narrowed.

"You keep bringing up love," he observed. Nyssa attempted a smile, but looked away.

"Because I do," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I do… love him."

"You've known him for what, a month? Maybe a month and a half?"

"How long do you think it takes, Sam?" She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and he saw the tears in hers. "How long do you think it takes to fall for someone when you know their heart as well as your own? When there are times you have trouble telling where they end and where you begin?"

"So, what, you're moving here to Wakanda, then?" Sam asked, unmoved by her expressions. "Going to give up your life and go on the run with him?"

"I never promised that." She shook her head, looking at the floor again. "He knew I wasn't going to stay forever. Whatever we are, it's... temporary."

"So, just long enough to win his heart, and then you'll leave and tear it out again? Does that sound like doing no harm to you?" Sam glared at her. "Hasn't he been through enough?" Nyssa closed her eyes, sitting down on the couch as tears trickled down her cheeks.

"No, you're right, Sam. I've been selfish. I didn't want to go home just yet because I'm about to be exposed and I don't know what that will mean for my practice, for Phoenix Rising, for everything that I've built. And I was already falling for him. I just wanted… just a little bit of happiness before I had to go back and potentially watch my life burn to the ground again, then try to rebuild. It's a reason, but it's not an excuse. I'm sorry." Sam shook his head.

"Don't apologize to me. I'm not the one you owe an apology to," he pointed out. She put her hands over her face, taking in a shaky breath, then dropped them and looked up at him pleadingly.

"Just give me one more night. Please. One more night to be happy, and to figure out… how to tell him I made a mistake, without making him feel that he was the mistake."

"You better," Sam said warningly. Her shoulders slumped, defeated.

"I never meant to hurt him. That was never my intention."

"I believe you," Sam said with a shrug. "But you know what they say about the road to hell." Her face crumpled, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, curling into a ball of misery as he walked out of her door.


	23. Always Ends in a Fight

Bucky knocked on Nyssa's door, a small smile already on his face in anticipation of seeing her again. She opened the door, and he held out an exquisite coral flower.

"For you, Doll," he said softly. She smiled at him, her lips a tantalizing shade of red. She was dressed in a little black dress with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline that tapered in at the waist, then flared out in a skirt that went almost to her calves, swishing around her legs as she moved. Around her neck, the panther claw necklace of T'Challa's protection nestled into the hollow of her throat, while the necklace he had given her hung down just past the neckline of her dress, gleaming softly and giving off flashes of color as she moved.

"Thank you, it's beautiful," she replied. "Let me get it in some water, and then we can go." She disappeared back into her quarters for a minute, and he stepped just inside the door, watching her as she found something to use as a vase, then set the flower on a table near a window before returning to his side. He offered her his arm.

"Shall we?" he asked. She linked her arm with his, and they set off down the hall. She appeared suitably impressed by the restored Alfa Romeo. She laughed when he opened the door for her and gestured for her to be seated, but obediently sat down on the passenger's side. He drove much more carefully this time, with no tricks or speeding. He wasn't in any hurry with her by his side. She was uncharacteristically silent during the drive, watching the sunset with her hands folded in her lap. Bucky glanced over at her. "Hey, everything okay?" he asked. She looked over at him and smiled, though it seemed to him her eyes still looked sad.

"Why wouldn't it be okay?" she responded.

"You're very quiet," he observed.

"I just have some things on my mind," she said with a sigh. "Mostly work-related stuff. I'm looking forward to going dancing with you and forgetting about all of it for a while."

"Is that what you did after I left this morning?" Bucky asked. "Work-related stuff?"

"Just went through some emails," she said with a nod. "Then I went down to the palace kitchen to see some of the staff. They hadn't seen me in a few days. Apparently, there was a rumor that I was dead. Can you believe that?" He caught her pointed look, and his lips twitched.

"Someone should tell them they shouldn't believe everything they see on television," he replied, echoing back her own words to her. She chuckled.

"Oh, believe me, I did." Whatever had been on her mind, she seemed to have shaken it off. They chatted easily the rest of the way there, and Bucky found the perfect parking spot – not too far away, but not close and obvious. For a moment, he was torn between regret that he hadn't chosen something less conspicuous, and pride in the looks the car was getting from passersby on the street. Then Nyssa shot him a brilliant smile, and he forgot to be nervous about the car.

"They don't allow weapons in the club," she reminded him. "If you're carrying, you should leave it out here."

"I'm not…" he began to protest. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. "Fine." He stashed the dagger and handgun he had tucked away under his clothes in the glovebox of the car. Nyssa cleared her throat, and Bucky heaved another sigh, then added the knife from his boot to the collection in the glove compartment. She rewarded him with another smile, and her fingers interlaced with his as they headed into the building.

Nyssa's description had been apt. As they descended the stairs to the lower level of the – club, he reminded himself, not music hall – the volume of the music was almost oppressive. There was very little light other than what was aimed at the stage, and he could just barely make out the mass of bodies moving together on the dance floor. Onstage, a group of four were playing instruments he was not entirely familiar with. The female vocalist was belting out lyrics in Wakandan, the unfamiliar language making her voice another instrument to his ears. The drummer in the back had an entire array of percussion to use, and the song felt both modern and tribal, the underlying tempo driving and primal.

Bucky had never had difficulty finding the beat of a song, back in the days when he and Steve would take girls to parties and dance halls. Steve would find some excuse to stay on the sidelines, and Bucky would dance the night away. He had a feeling that even Steve would be able to find the beat in the music that pounded through this club. It got under his skin, pulsed through his veins, surged through his bones. Ahead of him, Nyssa was already bobbing in time to it, her every movement in sync with the beat. He hesitated as they reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes scanning the crowd. In the darkness, arms waved and bodies moved, faceless, anonymous and strange. He couldn't make out any exits other than up the stairs they had just come down. He had promised Nyssa he would be okay with this, and he was trying to be, but he could feel the room shrinking around him, and his pulse was pounding in his ears at twice the tempo of the music that throbbed through the room. A hand slipped into his, and he looked down at Nyssa, a distracted frown still on his face. She tugged on his hand, pulling him closer, and kissed him. Almost immediately, the crowd around them seemed to fade into the background. For a moment, all that mattered was her lips pressed against his. Even after the kiss ended, he felt calmer. Steadier. She hadn't let go of his hand, but now she was walking, leading him… away from the crowd, away from the dance floor.

Past the collection of chairs and tables scattered around the edge of the dance floor, there was a section of floor that was slightly better lit, an exit door in the nearby wall. At first, he thought maybe she'd decided to leave, but then she stopped, turning to face him. Stepping in closer, she raised their linked hands and put her other arm around him. This felt familiar and right, although in the moment he was very much aware of his missing arm, which should be at her back and guiding her steps. They started moving together in time to the music, and after a few bars, he decided the absent appendage wasn't necessary, after all. Nyssa seemed to know what steps he was going to take almost before he did, her movements a perfect echo of his. He spun her away from him, and she twirled in circles around him, her skirt flaring out at her hips like a flower blooming. He pulled her back in, and she ducked under his arm, then rolled in, smiling up at him as the song ended and he leaned her back, his arm supporting securely around her waist. They were both out of breath, but grinning. Bucky was surprised by a smattering of applause that erupted from behind him, and saw that their old-fashioned dancing had attracted some attention. Nyssa curtsied in the direction of their admirers, then turned back to face Bucky as the next song began.

* * *

"There's an attack on the meteor site," Steve said, not even bothering to knock on Sam's door before opening it and delivering his message. "We gotta scramble. Leaving in ten." He shut the door behind him, frowned for a moment, shook his head, then jogged away, heading for the airfield. Sam sighed and looked over at the wall out of line of sight from the door.

"Are you going, too?" he asked. Nobomi checked her phone and nodded.

"My king is going. We will protect him." She held up the mobile device and raised her eyebrows at Sam. "This seems more efficient than the way your Captain prefers." Sam snorted and shook his head.

"Yeah, he's old school like that." Together, they made their way towards the door. "You're still going to talk to the King about us, right?" Sam asked. Nobomi hesitated, but nodded.

"The timing has not yet been right," she sighed. "But I will." Sam nodded.

"I'll see you there." He tossed off a salute over his shoulder as he ran off in the same direction Steve had gone.

* * *

Steve counted nine helicopters hovering over the meteor site as their aircraft drew closer, and the ground below was crawling with men in military-style fatigues that were not standard Wakandan issue. The guards that had been posted to watch over Wakanda's most priceless resource were fighting fiercely, but had already suffered casualties. T'Challa nodded at him, resplendent in his Black Panther fighting suit, and Steve nodded back, his unmarked vibranium shield at the ready. Together, they jumped from the plane, landing on the ground in the middle of the enemy. Steve lost no time disarming the three fighters nearest him with the shield, while Black Panther kicked the assault rifle out of the hands of the man nearest him, then picked him up and threw him in to the five men approaching, knocking all of them over. Above their heads, Falcon had launched himself from the aircraft, the King's royal air guard following in formation. The helicopters opened fire, but the winged warriors were too fast for them, flying ahead of the spray of bullets. Cebisa and Nailah swarmed the nearest helicopter, one aiming for the tailfin while the other dove feet-first at the nose, sending the huey spinning out of control. Nobomi and Fezeka dove between a pair of them, and the shells that strafed after them shredded the sides of the helicopters instead, the troops still inside screaming as they were struck by flying rounds and shrapnel. Onyeka and Nceba soared underneath another chopper, grabbing ahold of the landing skids and flipping it rotors-down. The 'copter's passengers frantically launched themselves out into the air as the bird went down, exploding against the stone edges of the crater. Falcon flew directly at the open side of one of the helicopters, pulling his wings in as he barreled through, taking out the pair of soldiers aboard in a football-style tackle and dropping them out the other side, spreading his wings again and flying skyward as they fell to the ground below. He surveyed the battlefield from his vantage point and noticed that the invaders were scrambling to clear the meteor. The remaining helicopters were repositioning themselves, and he suddenly realized what their strategy was.

"Get clear," he called over his headset. "They're going to -" Before he could even finish the sentence, Nceba and Nobomi had swooped down and were carrying Black Panther away from the site, while Cebisa grabbed Steve. Moments after their feet left the meteor, the helicopters launched missiles at the same time, and the rocky surface exploded.

* * *

The band took a break, leaving the stage for a few minutes, and the music changed to something pre-recorded over the club speakers. Bucky and Nyssa found a nearby table to rest their feet, still out of breath from dancing but smiling. Nyssa kissed his cheek, then headed off to find the ladies' room. Bucky checked his exits again, then tried to relax, his eyes scanning the crowd out of habit.

Nyssa washed her hands while admiring the architecture of the building. She had been doing her best to keep herself distracted, and thus far had been successful, particularly with such a skilled dance partner. But in the quiet moments like this, the conversation with Sam kept coming back to haunt her. The idea that she would inevitably cause Bucky more pain made her heart hurt, and she had even contemplated his suggestion of abandoning her life and moving to Wakanda. Reluctantly, she had to admit to herself this was neither practical nor responsible, as she had too many ties to the US and to Phoenix Rising to forsake them. And there remained the fact that Bucky had not asked this of her. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed the barriers in her mind slightly. She had been trying her hardest not to let any of these thoughts leak out to Bucky and ruin their last night together, and she typically kept them a little tighter when in large crowds of people, anyway. But she had been so intent on maintaining her mental security, she hadn't noticed right away that something was tripping her internal alarm system. There was someone here that she needed to be careful of, but she had let herself be distracted from who.

Shaking her head, she exited the bathroom and started to make her way across the noisy, darkened club. Abruptly, a hand closed on her arm, and she turned, startled, to see dark eyes in an unfamiliar, pale face. Images flooded her mind, and she pushed his hand away, suddenly panicking as she realized he meant to leave with her, willing or not. Ducking between two groups of club attendees, she quickly attempted to lose him in the crowd, but switched direction as she spotted another man heading for her, and it dawned on her that this was a coordinated kidnapping, not simply a single predatory man. Backing up, she bumped into a Wakandan man on the dance floor, gestured an apology, and found a space to weave through the throng. She found her exit cut off by the first man, who reached for her, but was knocked back as Bucky's fist connected with his face. Her would-be attacker fell back, the crowd parting to let him hit the floor. Grabbing her hand, Bucky stalked towards the stairs leading up and out of the club, and the Wakandan crowd moved out of their way.

The night outside was much cooler than the club had been, and the comparative silence was deafening. Her heels tapped softly against the pavement as she followed Bucky back to the Alfa Romeo. He paused a few feet away from the car, and seemed to be listening for something. Nyssa listened too, and heard a faint beeping. Suddenly he was pushing her backwards, half-lifting her off her feet as he sprinted away from the vehicle, putting his body in between her and this new threat. Light and sound rent the night as something exploded under the car, the rear end flying upwards and flipping the coupe upside down, and the shock wave knocked them both over. Nyssa stared in horror over Bucky's shoulder at the fireball that had been a newly restored sportscar just a moment before. Bucky stayed over her, his breathing ragged.

"You okay?" she asked, reaching up to touch his face, but he wasn't looking at her. His attention was instead fixed on the door of the club they had just come out of. She got a brief impression of sharp pain in his back, but he was already scrambling to his feet. She glanced back and realized four men had just exited the club and were walking towards them, all of them with firearms in hand. Bucky grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, then turned and was pulling her along behind him at a pace she could barely keep up with. Her eyes widened at two slowly widening red stains on the back of his shirt, but she couldn't catch her breath enough to say something. Bucky suddenly changed course, turning down another narrow street, and she saw a second group of men running towards them. Their side street curved to the left, then became a dead end, tall buildings cutting off their escape options. The shortest of them was four stories high, and had some thick vines growing down the top two stories. Nyssa glanced up, then back at the men who were swarming down the alleyway towards them.

"No way to go but up. Bucky, give me a boost," she said. His attention snapped abruptly to her.

"What?" His tone was shocked. He shook his head. "Too dangerous."

"Well, I can't boost you," she replied pointedly. His expression was still stubborn refusal, but she could be stubborn, too. "If you've got a better idea, now's the time!" He looked from her to the vine-covered building to the mob drawing closer, and crouched down, his hand hovering right above the ground. She stepped into his hand and rested her hands on his shoulders, bracing herself. Then she was sailing through the air, hands reaching for the greenery that would allow her to escape. The first handful pulled away from the building, but her other hand held. Her high heels slid against the side of the building, so she kicked them off, then started to climb up the wall as fast as she could. She reached the top and looked down, expecting to see Bucky following her up the wall, but instead he was fighting with the men who had been in pursuit of them. She started scanning the rooftop around her, looking for anything she could throw down for Bucky to use to climb up. The vines that twined up the side of the building trailed a little bit on the roof as well, and she set about trying to dislodge one to throw down.

Three of their assailants were already sprawled out on the street, and he pushed a fourth back a step, then kicked him in the head, knocking him flat on his back. Scooping up a gun that had been dropped, he quickly emptied the remaining rounds into his attackers. A shriek from overhead drew his attention to the rooftops, where he had assumed Nyssa would be safe.

Two pairs of hands grabbed Nyssa by the arms, and she let out a cry of surprise, but then frowned at them, turning their attention to each other and fanning the undercurrent of anger and frustration she felt in them into full-on rage. As one took a swing at the other, she dropped flat to the roof, then scrambled away, bare feet nearly noiseless against the rooftop as she sprinted away.

As the last assailant dropped, Bucky discarded the now-empty pistol and jumped, his serum-enhanced strength launching him high enough to grab onto the vegetation that Nyssa had used to scale the building. It took him a moment to find purchase with his feet, and another moment to figure out how the hell he was supposed to climb with only one arm. Setting his jaw and gritting his teeth, he pushed up with both feet at the same time he let go with his hand, propelling himself further up the wall and finding a new section to cling to as he landed. It took four or five of these vertical leaps, but he finally grasped the edge of the roof. Tightening his grip on the ledge, he drew his legs up, then pushed powerfully off the wall and flipped himself over the edge onto the roof, landing somewhat awkwardly on his feet. His sense of relief was short-lived as he realized there were two very angry men already occupying the roof. He dropped into a defensive stance, his arm cocked back and ready to punch, but then he realized neither of them seemed to be noticing him. Instead, they had their full attention focused on each other, throwing the kind of wild punches at each other that come with rage and loss of control. With a mental shrug, he decided to leave them to their fight and sprinted off in the direction he somehow knew Nyssa had gone.

Nyssa dodged one man who suddenly popped up next to her, but then was a moment too slow for the second, who grabbed her arm. She punched him in the nose, and his head snapped back, but his grip on her did not loosen, so she grabbed his face with an open hand and instead searched out his deepest fears, making them replay on a loop before his mind's eye. Blinded by the sudden terrifying vision, he screamed and tried to run away, but his trip was cut short as he tumbled off the edge of the roof. His screams stopped a moment later as his body collided with the ground below. Nyssa wasn't waiting around to watch, but was already half a rooftop away. She heard footsteps running up behind her as she reached the edge, and she paused, waiting until the last possible second before dropping flat on her stomach, and the man who had been about to grab her found himself flailing at empty air instead. Rolling back, she aimed a kick at his backside, propelling him over the edge and onto the roof of the next building over, two stories down. She changed direction, sprinting along the roof, scanning quickly for other options. To the west was another building, just one floor lower, but at least thirty feet away. She could feel Bucky running behind her, coming fast, but at least four men in between them. She looked up as a helicopter suddenly descended through the clouds, and she backed up, deciding to risk the jump. She ran towards the edge of the roof, her eyes focused on where she hoped to land, when suddenly there was a sharp pain in her right leg, and it buckled under her. She dropped to her hands and knees, trying to scramble back to her feet, but a net suddenly dropped over her as the wind whipped around her. She looked up at the helicopter, the sound of the engines drowning everything else out, and fought to get free of the net as danger drew ever closer. Then pain exploded in her head, and there was only darkness.

Bucky rounded the corner and saw dark figures climbing into a helicopter that was already gaining altitude. Calling on his reserves, he put on a last burst of speed, then jumped, grabbing onto the skid. One of the helicopter's passengers stuck his head out of the door, and suddenly something hard and metal pressed into Bucky's forehead. He jerked to the side to avoid the point-blank shot, but lost his grip and suddenly was falling. Time seemed to slow down, the helicopter overhead replaced by a train, and then the ground slammed into his back. The breath was driven from his lungs, and his vision dimmed for a few moments. Then time sped back up, he gasped for breath and rolled onto his side. The helicopter was gone, the sound of its engines fading as he searched the sky, trying to track it. Then the night sky suddenly turned to gold, blocking out the moon and stars.

* * *

Only three helicopters remained at the meteor site. Bodies and debris littered the edges of the canyon. The missiles had taken off a layer or two of the meteor, but it was still largely intact. A few of the larger chunks had been picked up and loaded into the helicopters. The invaders had put up a valiant fight, but their casualties mounted ever higher, blood and bodies splattered on the ground. Black Panther stepped towards them menacingly, and beside him Steve Rogers lifted his shield once again. As if in unison, the men who had been fighting so hard moments before turned tail and fled, swarming back into the helicopters like cockroaches fleeing the light. The choppers took off, abandoning the meteor. Black Panther signaled, and the air guard gave chase, following the fleeing enemy. The 'copters flew straight up, gaining altitude as quickly as they could. Before Falcon and the others could catch them, the sky rippled, then turned gold, and Cebisa and Nailah collided with the forcefield before they could change course or stop. Falcon and Nobomi caught a disoriented Cebisa, and Nceba scooped Nailah up before she could crash-land on the rocks below. They all came in for a landing near Black Panther, looking very confused. The King removed his headdress, looking very grim as he stared at the golden sky overhead.

"It appears Wakanda is harboring a traitor," he declared grimly.

* * *

Bucky heaved himself to his feet, staggered a few steps, then righted himself, fury clearing his head. Most of the bodies strewn in his wake were dead, but not all of them. One of them was even starting to regain consciousness when he found himself abruptly hauled up, a hand tight around his throat, and slammed into the stone wall behind him.

"Where are they taking her?" Bucky snarled. The man's eyes widened in fear. In case he hadn't understood, Bucky switched to Italian. " _Dove la stanno portando?"_ The man shook his head, or tried as best he could with a hand clamped around his throat.

" _Mi uccidera_ ," he gasped.  _He'll kill me._ Bucky set his jaw, his grip tightening.

" _Credi che non lo farei!?"_  he snarled. The man had both hands around Bucky's wrist, clutching at his sleeve. He opened his mouth again, but before any sound could come out, a shot echoed through the alley, and the man jerked, his eyes going dead and blood trickling from the hole in the side of his head. Bucky threw the body aside, quickly identifying where the gunshot had come from. He towered over the man, but didn't see any fear in this one's eyes. The man started to laugh instead.

" _La troverà mai,"_ he whispered, then put the gun under his own chin and pulled the trigger, painting the wall with his blood and brains. The words echoed hollowly in Bucky's head.  _You'll never find her._ Inwardly frantic but outwardly methodical, he began to search through the rest of the bodies, searching for a pulse, shallow breathing, another survivor. Finding nothing but dead bodies, he punched the nearby wall and let out a roar of protest and inarticulate rage.


	24. Lost

By the time Bucky made it back to the club entrance, Wakanda's Peacekeepers were on the scene, no doubt due to the explosion. He surveyed the remains of Sam's car, and was impressed to note that the paint job was still intact. Scratch-proof, indeed. A rush of air drew him out of his thoughts as Sam landed on the ground near him. The other man gaped at the smoking heap that had been his car.

"Not a scratch? Is this what you call not a scratch?" he spluttered. Bucky tossed the keys up in the air, and Sam caught them.

"Guess I owe you a car," he said tersely, and stalked off. Sam stood staring at the wreck formerly known as his Alfa Romeo.

"Motherfucker, you owe me two!" He jogged to catch up with Bucky. "What the hell happened here tonight?"

"There was an attack." Bucky's answer was distracted as he paced back towards the bodies littering the ground, determined to find something to tell him who these men were, who they were affiliated with, where they might have taken Nyssa. There was nothing on the first body he searched, not even a personal ID or dog tags to identify him. Sam shifted uncomfortably nearby.

"Hey, man, I'm pretty sure that's considered tampering with a crime scene. Plus, you're bleeding. Why don't you let them go patch you up, and let the officers do their jobs?" Sam suggested. "It looks like they're part of the same company that we were just fighting at the meteor site, so T'Challa is just as invested in finding out where they came from as you are." Bucky froze, his attention on a dark corner of the alleyway. Slowly, he bent down and picked something up off the ground. Pocketing it, he sighed and followed Sam back to where the Peacekeepers were still swarming the streets. Sam flagged down one wearing the uniform of the medical corps, and she quickly set about inspecting and treating Bucky's wounds. The adrenaline was slowly subsiding, leaving his body aching. He could feel acutely the damage from the shrapnel that had lodged in his back, which he had subsequently landed on. He saw a group of Wakandans who had exited the club point in his direction, and he took a deep breath as one of the Peacekeepers walked over to him. He talked rapidly while he gestured around them, to the smoldering car, to Bucky's injuries, his tone questioning. "He wants to know what happened here tonight," Sam translated helpfully. Bucky snorted. He had been surprised to realize he understood about three quarters of what the man had said, though he had no confidence in his ability to speak the language.

"Yeah, I got that much." He related the evening's events as concisely as he could, and Sam translated, stopping a few times to clarify something or to simply shake his head in disbelief.

"…and I lost my grip on the helicopter, and fell. They took her." Bucky finished his narrative and shifted uncomfortably, the guilt and shame arguably more painful than the wounds the medical tech was still dressing. Sam started to translate, then stopped.

"Wait a minute, they took her? Nyssa's been… kidnapped?" he asked. Bucky gave him an incredulous look.

"Where did you think she was?" he asked. Sam shrugged.

"I dunno. You two had a fight and she left. Or she got out of dodge once the coast was clear." Sam turned to the officer who was watching them somewhat impatiently and explained that someone had been taken in the attack. Bucky watched as the man got very animated, asking rapid-fire questions. Sam glanced over at him. "He wants to know what she was wearing, what she looks like." Bucky sighed.

"Black dress, but it doesn't matter," he pointed out. "She's not here."

"It might, actually." Both Sam and Bucky turned to see T'Challa approaching, his panther suit discarded in favor of more subtle raiment. "Was she wearing one of those?" He pointed to the panther claw necklace that Bucky wore around his neck. Bucky nodded, touching his.

"Why?" he asked, regarding the king warily. "These are more than just symbols, aren't they?" T'Challa nodded.

"Each pendant is also a transponder that can be used to track the wearer," he explained. "It was a compromise for some of my advisors who felt the foreigners should be immediately ejected from the country, even though the king had already given a promise to protect them." He folded his arms over his chest. "If Dr. Taylor is wearing hers, it will be a simple matter to locate her." Bucky closed his eyes and shook his head. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what he had found in the shadows of the alley.

"She  _was_ wearing it," he said wearily, "but apparently someone else knows it can be tracked." He uncurled his fingers to reveal the panther claw necklace tangled with the pendant he had gifted her. T'Challa sighed and shook his head.

"Somebody knows too much of our inner workings," he growled. "They reversed the polarity on our defensive grid to keep us from tracking them. They knew the location of the meteor and when to attack. And they knew she was here, and what car you were driving." He exhaled. "Do not worry, Mr. Barnes. We will find whoever is responsible for revealing our secrets." Bucky stood, his jaw clenched as hard as his fist.

"Do what you need to for your security, your Highness," he said tersely. "All I want to do is find her. Before it's too late." He tilted his head back and looked at the sky, now returned to a usual deep blue, the stars twinkling peacefully as if the night's violent events hadn't just occurred. He took some small comfort in the feeling he had that at least she was still alive. Somehow, he felt that he would know if they had killed her. She had been alive when they took her, so he doubted she was to be executed. That bought him a little time, he thought. He wished he could know how much.

* * *

As the sun rose, Bucky found himself in the medical wing once again, going over the details of his procedure with Shuri, who had overseen the design of his new arm and would be on hand for its installation, and Kuhle, who was the royal surgeon. He found it difficult to concentrate, partially due to not having been able to sleep at all after the events of last evening, and partially because he couldn't stop worrying about Nyssa. He signed whatever they wanted him to and settled back as the nurses started prepping him to go into the surgery. Steve was by his side once again, the shadows under his eyes showing that he hadn't slept, either.

"You're sure you still want to do this now?" Steve asked. Bucky nodded.

"Now more than ever. If - no, when we figure out where she is, I need to be back in fighting condition. If I'd already had my arm back last night…" He let the sentence trail off, shaking his head. He'd played that scenario too many times in his head already. Wishing things were different couldn't change the past.

"I'd say you're pretty close to fighting condition already," Steve opined. "You guys took out fourteen of them even though you were ambushed and unar- I mean, you had no weapons, plus you…" Steve gestured to Bucky's empty shoulder joint.

"It wasn't enough," Bucky said softly. He looked over at Steve. "You'll keep searching, right? While I'm out of commission?" His friend nodded.

"T'Challa's going to be doing his own investigation, too. She was taken while wearing his mark of protection, so he is taking it very seriously." Steve leaned forward. "We'll find her, Buck. Don't worry."

"Does anyone ever worry less because you told them not to?" Bucky pointed out. Steve chuckled.

"No," he admitted. "Especially not you." The nurse returned, hanging more bags on his IV pole.

"They're ready for you," she told him. He glanced at Steve, who nodded encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.

* * *

Returning to consciousness was like swimming upstream, fighting towards the surface. Nyssa gasped as she finally awoke. The first sensations she became aware of were pain, and cold, and darkness. There was only a faint, greyish light coming from a postcard-sized window in the reinforced door. She was in a small, bare cell with walls of stone. Her leg was on fire, her head pounded, and when she tried to move, it sent waves of nausea slamming into her. She rolled onto her side and retched, but there was nothing left in her stomach to come up. There was nothing here to tell her how much time had passed. She had vague memories of strange faces, unfamiliar voices, and disjointed images that she wasn't certain whether they were thoughts and images picked up from other people, drug-induced nightmares, things that had recently happened, or a combination of all three. She was still dressed only in her sleeveless black party dress, barefoot and shivering in the frigid air, and she was alone. She wasn't sure what had happened after they knocked her out. Was Bucky still alive? The last she'd seen of him, he'd been fighting with the men who had come to take her. A vague, fuzzy image of a gloating face surfaced in her mind's eye, telling her he was dead. A stolen memory of Bucky falling, already starting to fade. The defiant denial echoed in her memory, but still left room for doubt. She hoped it weren't true, but feared that it might be. The cold hand of fear clenched around her heart, and she tried to refocus on her surroundings and not on things she wasn't certain of and could do nothing about.

In her right arm, there was still an IV access port in place. From the weakness, lethargy, nausea and all-over body aches, they had used some heavy-duty sedatives to keep her subdued during transport. Vague, blurred images swam through her head: syringes filled with mysterious substances being injected, stainless steel tools, white medical equipment. Tests, they'd run tests. She wasn't going to give them any more opportunity, if she could help it. She tore the line out and threw it across the room, then closed her eyes and concentrated on what she could sense around her. Two men outside her cell door. Several more down the hall. On either side of her cell, there were others like her – scared, cold, injured, held captive. Five of them, one to her left and right; three more across the narrow corridor, most likely in another row of cells like hers. Thoughts drifted through her mind, other people's thoughts, overlapping and confused. She was awake, but the aftereffects of the drugs they'd used on her made it hard for her to sort everything out and make sense of it. She settled for impressions, let the rest go. She expanded her awareness further. Three dozen men, scattered around an area the size of a large warehouse. A handful of others – women and children – that took her by surprise. After that, nothing. As far as she could sense, there was nothing else around them. No nearby town, not even a bus station or an infrequently-traveled road. Wherever this place was, it was very isolated.

A face appeared briefly in the window of her cell door, then a small hatch at the base of the door slid aside, and a hand pushed inside a plate with a few spoonfuls of something that could only be called food by the most generous of definitions. The smell of it sent her stomach heaving again, and she turned her face away, curling into a fetal position to try and conserve as much heat as she could.

* * *

It seemed as if almost no time had passed before Bucky awakened again, but the angle of the sun coming in the windows told him it was much later in the day. His head was still muzzy from the anesthetic they had used, but he noticed right away that something seemed… off. It took him a few moments to figure out what it was. He'd lived in pain for so long that it had become a part of him. The burning ache along his spine, the dull throb in his shoulder… for the first time since he could remember, all that was gone. It almost felt like his shoulder wasn't even there. He glanced down at it to make sure there was something there, and saw the reassuring gleam of metal peeking out from under the white bandages that swathed the junction of flesh and metal. He tried to move the arm, but nothing happened.

"There's a nerve block in place, James." He jerked his head over to the other side to see that the nurse had come into the room. She smiled at him, her teeth white against her dark complexion, and checked the various bags of fluid hanging from the IV pole. "When it wears off, you will have pain. Tell me when it does so I can give you something for it." Bucky looked away. Hers was the first face he was seeing after his surgery, and it wasn't the one he had been hoping for. While she had been very professional and kind, he remembered the promise Nyssa had made to be there when he woke up. It was his fault that she wasn't.

"Hey, he's awake." Steve stepped through the door, one hand held behind his back as he approached. Bucky glanced over at him, curiosity rippling through his dark mood. With a smile, Steve set a teddy bear and a card on the nightstand next to the bed. "Those are from Wanda."

"Find anything out yet?" Bucky's voice was hoarse. Steve shook his head.

"Not about where they took her. But we did find out who's been giving information to Count Nefaria and his men, including Sturdy," he said. Bucky raised his eyebrows expectantly. "One of T'Challa's advisors is an isolationist. He thought giving information to some small-time invaders would get T'Challa to see how dangerous foreigners are and convince him to cut Wakanda off from the world again. He's been detained until the king decides what his punishment will be."

"So we know for sure it's Nefaria?" Bucky asked. Steve nodded.

"We're still waiting on intel on all of his holdings to see if there's any sign of Nyssa. But it's progress. More than I thought we'd get in the ten hours you were in surgery."

"Mister Rogers, are you fatiguing my patient with talk of politics and strategy when he is fresh out of surgery?" Both men looked to see Kuhle in the doorway, Shuri lurking close behind her.

"He asked," Steve shrugged, though he still looked somewhat guilty. The surgeon gave him a tolerant look.

"Mr. Barnes," she said, "I am happy to tell you that the surgery was mostly a success."

"Mostly?" Bucky repeated, raising his eyebrows. The doctor sighed, glancing at Shuri, then looked back at him.

"The visible part of the shoulder was only the top layer," she explained. "Once we removed that, there's another moving plate that was appended to the muscle layer. That was easy enough to remove. Underneath that, we found an anchor plate that both moving layers had connected to, for added stability. That plate was attached to your first and second rib, the manubrium, and your first and second thoracic vertebrae." She flipped a switch on a small console next to the bed, and three-dimensional images projected in front of his face, illustrating what she was telling him. "I hoped we would be able to remove that, but we found that it has been so fused to the bone, the only way we could do so would be to remove the bones as well. We did take out what we could, but some fragments still remain." Shuri muttered something under her breath in Wakandan that made Steve's eyebrows climb nearly to his hairline, her expression making clear her opinion of whoever had installed the original arm. "However," Kuhle continued, "the nerve reintegration appeared to be successful. We will know more once the nerve block wears off and function returns, but I would not recommend trying to use it for too much until the muscle and nerve tissue heals. For an average person, I would prefer complete immobilization for at least a week, but I understand your healing is somewhat accelerated, so we will see how you are feeling tomorrow." Kuhle took a step back, deferring to Shuri with a slight bow.

"As for the arm itself," Shuri said, stepping forward and pulling up an image of the new arm on the console, "we were able to accommodate all of your design specifications, including your somewhat unorthodox aesthetic requests. We did have to add some weight to it for it to balance your other arm. It is waterproof, rustproof, and should never scratch or corrode. It is thermodynamically neutral, so it will neither freeze nor heat excessively. And, of course, it absorbs all kinetic energy and vibration, which will make it much more effective than the last model. It also contains a homing beacon that you can choose to activate in case of emergency."

"Oh, good," Steve breathed softly on his other side. "I wasn't sure you'd take my suggestion on that." Bucky half-smiled and took a deep breath. He was never going to be lost again. Shuri grinned at him.

"I suggest you rest today while you can," she informed him, eyes alight. "Tomorrow, we have calibrations." Bucky eyed her hesitantly, unsure if that was as ominous as it sounded.


	25. Juxtaposition

Her cell had not gotten any warmer when she awakened again, but now she was lying in a puddle of her own sweat, shivering. She made herself sit up, and while the waves of nausea still slammed into her, she could manage it if she took deep breaths and went slow. She made her way to the back wall of the cell and wedged herself into the corner. Pulling the skirt of her dress aside, she inspected her calf. A bandage covered it that had once been white, but by now was stained brown and red. The skin around it was hot and swollen, tender to the touch. Leaning against the wall, she used her left leg to slowly raise herself to standing position. Gingerly, she put her right leg flat on the floor and slowly shifted some of her weight to it. A shockwave of agony jolted up the leg to her hip, but it held. She was weak and shaky, but she could stand. She could move.

The plate of unidentified mush still lay on the floor, ice cold by this time. She picked it up and gave it an experimental sniff. The scent of it still turned her stomach, but she forced down a couple mouthfuls. She needed calories to heal. Ideally, also antibiotics. She limped over to the door and banged on it.

"Hey," she called to the guards she knew were standing right outside her door. "Is there a doctor here, or at least some cephalexin? I think my leg is infected." She heard them shifting weight outside her door, but neither of them moved or said anything. She sighed and raised her voice. "Look, I don't know what you guys want with me, but you just went to an awful lot of trouble to just let me die of sepsis in some godforsaken freezer box." The fact that she was still alive told her that they wanted her that way, at least for now.

"Better go get the professor," one of the guards muttered, and the other one stalked away. Nyssa sagged against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the floor.

* * *

Steve left to check in with T'Challa, promising he would let Bucky know as soon as he had even a hint of a lead. Bucky settled back in the hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. This was infinitely more hospitable than the last time he'd woken up with a brand new metal arm attached to his body. Somehow, that thought made him feel more guilty. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine where Nyssa might be, what they might be doing to her, if she was suffering. No. _How much_ she was suffering.

"Hey." He opened his eyes and looked towards the doorway to see Wanda standing there. "Can I come in?" For a moment, he considered sending her away, leaving him to his thoughts. He deserved to be alone. Nyssa's face popped into his head, eyebrow raised.  _Really, do you?_ Sighing, he shifted position in bed.

"Sure," he said softly. She smiled and came to sit in the chair next to the bed.

"I see Steve delivered my gift," she said lightly, glancing at the teddy bear on the nightstand. Bucky glanced at it, too.

"Yeah," he said, his expression somewhat perplexed. "He didn't say why, though."

"Is it not customary to give a friend a gift when they have had a major surgery?" Wanda asked teasingly. "I believe flowers are more traditional, but I have never particularly cared for cut flowers. It seems like tempting fate to give someone who has just had a medical procedure something that dies. Besides, flowers aren't nearly as pleasant to snuggle." Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. The movement sent ripples of pain through him, and he suspected the nerve block they had mentioned was starting to run out.

"Do I strike you as the snuggly type?" he asked dryly. Wanda's playful smile softened, and she leaned forward slightly.

"You strike me as someone who hasn't had nearly enough of them," she answered honestly. Bucky looked at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the waves of agony became more intense. It was a little like pins and needles set on fire, the burning sensation of thousands of nerves waking up at once. She picked up the envelope from the nightstand. "You haven't opened the card yet," she noted.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I've been a little… preoccupied."

"I know," she replied. "A little distraction might do you some good." Bucky frowned at her, his expression a stubborn argument. "You are not betraying her if you think about something else for a few minutes. It is not a betrayal to allow yourself a… moment of comfort."

"Did you need those painkillers now, James?" The nurse asked as she stepped briskly into the room. Bucky shook his head.

"I'm fine, thanks," he managed. The nurse raised her eyebrows disbelievingly.

"Are all outsiders allergic to truth, or is it just you?" she asked mildly, then tapped the monitor that displayed his vital signs. "The monitor tells me exactly how much pain you are in right now. I cannot force you to take anything for the discomfort, but you should know that high levels of pain can interfere with the body's ability to heal."

"Bucky, she wouldn't want you to leave yourself in pain," urged Wanda. "If the situation was reversed, what would you want her to do?" The image of Nyssa equipped with a mechanical arm flickered through his mind's eye, and he swallowed hard.

"Fine," he grunted. "I'll take something." The nurse busied herself with the IV pole, and soon the throbbing ache in his shoulder started to recede to something more tolerable. It was surprising how much more noticeable pain became when you'd had even a brief reprieve from it. Bucky let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Wanda still sat patiently next to his bed. He looked over at her. "I'll read that card now." She handed it to him with a smile. He frowned down at the cheerful image on the front. His head was already swimming; whatever they gave him for the pain was some powerful stuff. He opened the card and tried to focus on the words written inside. His name registered, but the other words slipped away from his brain like snowflakes melting. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, a muscle working in the side of his jaw as he struggled to concentrate.

"Do you want me to read it to you?" Wanda offered. Mutely, he handed the card back to her. "Dear Bucky," she read, her voice sounding like it was coming from far away, "Congratulations on this next step in reclaiming yourself. I hope that your recovery this time is much easier and more comfortable than it was last time. I know you are in better hands now."

Wanda looked over at him, but his eyes had closed again, and the deep, even breaths told her he was fast asleep. Setting the card back on the nightstand, she picked up the teddy bear and tucked it under the blanket next to him. Then, with a little smile, she settled back in the chair and picked up the book she had brought with her.

* * *

There was nothing in her cell to mark the passage of time, not even natural light, so Nyssa had no idea how long it was before the guard returned, bringing with him a familiar, loathsome presence.

"Stand against the back wall," one of the guards called through the door. With a sigh of exasperation, Nyssa pushed against the wall to stand, then hobbled to the back wall as instructed, keeping one hand on the cold stone to steady herself. She turned to face the door, and for a moment weighed her chances if she were to attempt to sprint through when they opened it. With her lame leg, her odds weren't good.

"Okay," she called. One of the guards peeked through the tiny window in her door, then vanished. A moment later, the door opened, and a guard entered with a half-circle shape on a long pole, like a collar with a chunk missing. Crossing the tiny cell in two steps, he pushed the half-circle over her neck, pressing her back against the wall, keeping ahold of his end of the rod. Instinctively, she reached for the shaft, and metal cuffs automatically encircled her wrists, holding them in place on the pole. The other guard entered behind the first, gun drawn and pointed at her. Then Professor Sturdy strolled in, hands clasped behind his back. Nyssa bristled.

"Is this really necessary?" she spat at him. He smiled smugly at her, quite confident in his victory over her.

"We could ask the men you attacked last time if it's necessary," he replied, then snapped his fingers. "Oh, wait. No, we can't, because they are all either dead or still lost in their own minds." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I have no memory of that," she growled. Sturdy chuckled at her.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," he sneered. "You've had enough midazolam in the past thirty-six hours to make an elephant forget." Nyssa fell silent, watching her adversary sullenly. He walked slowly behind the two guards, eyeing her triumphantly. "However," he continued, "for the next series of experiments I need you with your faculties and abilities intact. I shall give you an opportunity to help us of your own volition, before I resort to… more invasive tactics."

"I'm not helping you," she replied scornfully. Sturdy raised his eyebrows at her.

"Yes, well… we shall see if you still feel the same way by the end of the day." He held up a syringe with a long needle, and she flinched away from him. A slow smile spread across his face. He was enjoying her discomfort. "This is merely the antibiotic you requested. Ideally, it should be given intravenously, but I see you have eliminated that option, so into the muscle it is." She felt a sharp poke in her deltoid, and a burning as the medication was injected. "I don't normally like to waste too many resources, but you were quite right. It makes little sense to allow you to die of sepsis or infection before I have gotten what I want."

"And what's that?" Nyssa asked. All of them had managed to avoid touching her, even when giving her the injection, so she hadn't had the opportunity to explore any of their minds fully, and the thoughts she could pick up on weren't telling her anything useful. The guards were afraid of her. Sturdy was not. His presence was a gleeful gloating, eager to take sweet revenge on the person he still blamed for his ejection from Wakanda. She had only the faintest of hints what he had planned for her, but what she could sense filled her with trepidation. He nodded to the guards, and the one holding the device that held her captive took a step back, dragging her away from the wall. He pushed a button on the handle, and the semi-circle became a full circle around her neck. Sturdy nodded approvingly.

"Come with us and find out, Dr. Taylor," he replied, turning and leaving the cell with a swish of his lab coat. Nyssa found herself pulled along, struggling to keep up with their pace on her injured leg but unwilling to show them any weakness. Even without her injured leg, she would have struggled to keep up. The men set a brisk pace, making her trot in order to keep from being dragged. She was so intent on simply remaining upright that she had little attention to spare to her surroundings or the path they were taking her. Down the corridor, turn left, down another hall, down some stairs, more turns, more halls. The air was still frigid against her skin, but at least her muscles were starting to warm up with the impromptu jog.

They ushered her into a large room, and for the first time, she balked. Echoes of pain, suffering, screams, ghosts of tormented souls immediately crowded into her mind. She knew what this room was for, and she wanted no part of it. Her hesitation only afforded her half a moment until she was dragged into the room, losing her footing for the first time. The collar tightened around her neck, leaving her fighting for breath as she struggled to stand again. They forced her down into a seat at the head of a metal table. Donning heavy, thick protective gloves, Professor Sturdy took her hands and placed them palm-up on the table, then lowered a slightly contoured bar over her wrists, trapping her in place. She jerked her head up to glare at him.

"So it's to be torture, then?" she said hoarsely. "You'll get nothing from me." Sturdy smiled faintly.

"We shall see. Most of that depends on you. If you cooperate and help us get the information we need, this could be painless for you. If not, well… we may have to resort to more persuasive methods. And really, you should have no personal investment in this. We're not after your information. We want his." He glanced towards the door again, and another pair of guards dragged a man into the room and placed him on the table, strapping him down. The man's head lay on her upturned hands, and she tensed at the waves of pain that rolled off him and through her. This was not his first torture session, and from the deep, aching emptiness inside, they had been starving him as well. She took a breath as he stirred, his mind waking up. He stared up at her, for a moment wondering if he was in a dream, or perhaps he had just died and she was an angel. She closed her eyes as his consciousness encroached on hers.

Marcus Andrew Riggs, formerly of S.H.I.E.L.D., currently Department of Homeland Security, senior officer. He'd been assigned to head a team working on identifying and analyzing threats to humanity – primarily the "Enhanced" – and evaluating them for potential to cause destruction. One of his junior officers – with considerably lower security clearance - had been on the payroll of more than just the US government; taking bribes to leak information to the Maggia. Marcus had confronted him and fired him, but before he could even notify HR of the termination, he'd blacked out, and when he awakened again, he'd been in this place. He had lists in his head. Names, addresses, ages, abilities, potential threats. That was what Sturdy was after. He wanted to get his hands on more Enhanced humans, no doubt to invite them for an extended stay in this frozen fortress in the middle of nowhere. A woman's face drifted through his mind – his wife, Angela. Two sons, Reed and Caiden, ages 4 and 7. A spasm of grief drifted through him as he thought about never seeing them again. His boys growing up without a father. He had already resigned himself that he was going to die here. Even if he gave up the information, they would probably kill him. But he was not going to give up the names of innocent people to be taken, used and abused by this madman.

"So what shall it be, Doctor?" Sturdy asked, circling around the pair of prisoners like a vulture. "Shall we do this the easy way, or the painful way?" Nyssa opened her eyes again, blinking away sympathetic tears, set her jaw and said nothing. Sturdy shrugged. "As you wish." The door opened again, and she looked over to see a dark-haired man stride into the room as if he owned it. Perhaps he did, in a sense. Professor Sturdy stepped back from the table, gesturing towards it grandly.

"All set up for you, Luca," he said. Luca nodded towards him, eyeing the two people in the middle of the room. He pulled a roll of fabric out from under his arm and set it on the table, rolling it out with one smooth movement. The lights in the room gleamed off of his assortment of metal tools. Professor Sturdy had pulled up a chair near the door.

"Are you staying this time?" Luca asked as he picked up a knife as elegant as it was cruel. Sturdy smiled at him.

"You know I love watching you work," he confirmed. "Besides…" Getting up, he circled around the table, passing close to Nyssa. "…I have a feeling this time we may get what we are after." Luca bared his teeth in an expression that wasn't quite a smile.

"Very good," he purred, then turned his attention to the man strapped on his table. "Shall we begin, then, Marcus?" Nyssa stared wide-eyed at the knife, her heart pounding and stomach churning, but was unable to look away, even as the blade began slicing slowly through flesh and skin. Shallow cuts, meant to cause pain but not significant damage. Nyssa clenched her jaw shut, feeling every cut as if it were carving her own skin but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her reaction. "You know what you need to do to stop this, Marcus," their tormentor said, his voice incongruously soothing in contrast to his actions. "You need only to name names, and all of this will stop." Marcus said nothing, his breathing ragged. Luca laid the knife down and picked up a thin metal spike just a few inches long. Flipping it over to the blunt end, he scraped it along the length of Marcus' sternum, drawing an involuntary groan from the man, the first sound he had made since they had hauled him into the chamber. Nyssa grunted as well, flinching away from the echoed pain but hoping her captors wouldn't notice. The information they were after whirled through her mind, but she pressed her lips together. Marcus had endured days and weeks of torture and still resisted. She wasn't going to fold so quickly just because of a little pain. Luca's eyes flickered towards her, but he brought his attention back to the man on his table.

"Oh, so you are still alive," he jeered. "Good. I would hate to think this was wasted effort on my part." Flipping the spike around, he drive the point with surgical precision into Marcus' solar plexus. The explosion of pain drove the breath from Nyssa's lungs for the space of several frantic heartbeats, and then her voice returned as a scream that forced its way out of her throat, echoing in the room with the cries of the man strapped to the table in front of her.

"Remarkable!" Professor Sturdy stepped closer to their captives, his eyes flickering from the man supine on the slab to the petite woman half-slumped over his head. "She actually, physically feels everything that he does. Perhaps this will be even shorter than we thought." Nyssa raised her head and leveled a glare at both of them. Marcus drew in a shaky breath and looked up at her warily.

_Please don't tell them anything._ She heard his unspoken plea. As much as she could summon under the circumstances, she sent him feelings of comfort.

_I won't,_ she reassured him. His eyes widened briefly at hearing her voice in his head.  _I will help you as much as I can._ Curling her fingers slightly, she cradled his head more fully in her hands and closed her eyes in concentration. The next sound that came from him was a sigh as she blocked the pain receptors in his brain, giving him a reprieve from the torment pulsing though his body. Luca eyed them both dispassionately, then went back to his collection of tools. He had been doing this a long time, and knew intimately the best ways to inflict pain and suffering on the human body. His tools bit into flesh, seeking nerves and tendons and fascia, meticulous and precise, and soon Nyssa could no longer tell whether the screams were coming from her, or the man in front of her.


	26. A Prisoner's Duty

Bucky blinked his eyes open. The vivid colors of sunset were turning his windows into stained glass, and the bustle and business of the rest of the hospital wing seemed far removed from his bed. He glanced at the chair next to the bed, half-expecting to see Wanda and half expecting that she would have left since he had dozed off. It caught him off-guard to see Sam sitting there instead. He covered his surprise with a faint cough.

"You drew the short straw, I see," he said, his voice raspy. Sam looked up from the tablet he had been staring at with a half-smile and set the device aside.

"Yeah, well…" He shifted in the chair. "My original plan for the evening was to go out for a drive in my car, but…" He paused, and Bucky looked away, shamefaced. "…some assholes blew it up and kidnapped your girl." Bucky glanced back at him and saw clemency on his friend's face.

"I'll help you fix her back up," he offered. Sam nodded.

"Sure you will. But let's get Nyssa back safe, first," he replied. Bucky looked hopeful.

"Do we know where she is, then?" he asked. His heart sank as Sam shook his head.

"We're still working on that."

* * *

Nyssa wouldn't have thought there would be a circumstance in which she would be grateful to be dragged back into her tiny, frigid, stonewalled cell, but as she collapsed in the corner, she could think of no better word for the feeling. Her entire body throbbed, nerves still burning with memories of pain, and her throat was raw from screaming. The one bright spot was her triumph that they had not been able to break her; she had not given away any secrets. But this had been only one session, and it had been close. She had nearly given in at the end, with Sturdy in her ear, whispering that all she had to do to end Marcus' pain – and hers - was to tell his secrets. The tortured man's resolve had strengthened her in the moments she found herself weakening, and she had honored his wishes, and remained silent. She was certain this had only been the first of many sessions.

As exhausted and aching as she was, she wasn't about to let herself rest. There was only one thing on her mind – escape. She felt the guards moving around outside the block of cells and edged closer to the door. The flap at the bottom slid aside, and a hand shoved another plate of mush through the opening. She quickly reached for the hand, wasting no time as she delved deep into his history, his personality, his secrets. The hand was quickly snatched away, but the fraction of a second had been enough for her. She listened to the footsteps retreating from her cell and settled back with a sigh, the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind.

* * *

Bucky swung his legs over the side of the bed, and, as the nurse nodded encouragement, carefully stood. The pain in his shoulder had receded to a more manageable level, even without use of the painkillers. He was thankful of that; he disliked the fuzzy-headed feeling he got from the ones potent enough to impact his pain. He moved slowly, waiting for the lightheaded, dizzy feeling to pass as his body adjusted to being vertical again, then shuffled his way to the bathroom. After taking care of what he needed to, he turned and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He stopped, fascinated, and raised, lowered and flexed the new arm experimentally. To a casual observer, the only glaring difference between this arm and the old one was the star missing from the upper arm, and the fact that it was several shades darker. To him, the disparities were striking. Shuri hadn't been joking about matching the weight of the other arm. He felt lighter than he remembered being before, and actually balanced. What Shuri hadn't mentioned was the silence. The previous prosthetic had always emitted at least a low-level hum, which grew louder when he used it. He had adjusted to the ever-present pops, hisses and hydraulic whines that accompanied his every movement. The movements of this new extremity were seamless, and absolutely and completely noiseless. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that it was a real, flesh-and-blood arm rather than one made of metal. He opened his eyes again and watched as the individual sections that made up the arm shifted back and forth, giving him occasional glimpses of gold inlaid underneath, and felt a twinge of sadness. He had meant for it to be a surprise to show Nyssa, who would understand why he had made the odd request.  _For me, not for anyone else,_ he reminded himself. He would show her after they found her, after he rescued her.

He bent over the basin to wash up, and again was distracted by the difference in sensation in his new extremity. The old arm had been designed for combat. It registered pressure, proprioception and pain, but didn't feel sensation the way his flesh arm did. He watched the warm water run over the metal surface of his new left hand. With the new arm, he not only knew the exact temperature of the water, but he could feel the warmth of it, could feel the soothing movement as it cascaded over his palm. He could feel the texture of the towel he used to dry his hands. Surprised, he held the hand up, running his corporeal fingers over the metal surface and registering with surprise the feel of the calluses on his hand, the warmth of his skin. This was not just a weapon. This felt, more than the old arm ever did, like an extension of his own body.

"Sergeant Barnes, time for calibration," Shuri's voice sang out from his hospital room.

"Be right there," he called, running his fingers through his hair to calm the disarray. He emerged from the bathroom to find Shuri setting up various pieces of equipment next to his hospital bed.

"We can rebuild him, we have the technology," Shuri intoned with a grin, giving him an expectant look. He recognized the look as someone expecting a popular culture reference to be recognized, but he didn't know what she was referencing. He kept his expression blank and sat down on the bed. "Wow, nothing? I thought that one would be old enough.. Here, hold this." Shuri held out a dynamometer, pressing it into his metal left hand. "This goes up to 250 kilograms, but I can adjust it if it needs to go higher. We'll test the upper limits of the arm's strength first, then work on smaller movements. A good prosthesis should be able to both crush the bones of your enemy and caress the face of your lover. And I only make the best." Her face was alight with enthusiasm, and despite himself, Bucky smiled.

* * *

Luck was with her. As the rest of the people that populated this isolated fortress slowly went to sleep, the guard that was left watching her cell block was the same one that she had grabbed the hand of earlier. The dish of food still lay untouched by the door. After her ordeal that day, she couldn't bring herself to eat it. Pushing it to the far wall, she instead seated herself by the crack of the door, making sure her voice could carry through to the hallway beyond.

" _Ah, Vito_ ," she called in Italian. " _How did you come to this place? You used to have such dreams for yourself."_ She knew that she had his attention. He edged a little closer to her door, wary and somewhat intrigued.  _"You dreamed of becoming a police officer, helping to put criminals away, keeping people safe. Now you stand guard over people who have committed no crime."_ He took a step closer to her door, and the wave of guilt was palpable. He stood frozen for several long moments. If she hadn't been able to sense him outside her cell, she might have thought that he had left. Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, he started to walk away. She switched tactics.  _"Perhaps you are nothing but a bully after all. Underneath all that rage and fear, perhaps you are nothing more than a little boy, hiding under the bed, hoping that Daddy will be too drunk this time to come into your room."_ She heard him choke on a half-uttered oath, snarling as he whirled back and stalked to her door, his hands shaking in anger as he fumbled with the key.

" _Chiudi il becco, puttana!"_ he snarled, his hands circling around her neck and beginning to squeeze. She grinned at him, and he dropped to the floor of the cell, fast asleep. She slipped away from him and picked up the keys where he had dropped them in his haste to get his hands on her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the cell and swung the door shut behind her, locking poor Vito inside. She took a moment and looked around the hallway. A handful of guards were on patrol elsewhere in the fort, but none anywhere near her. There were a dozen doors on each side of the corridor, though most of them led to empty cells. There were two dozen keys on the ring that Vito had dropped. Conveniently, the cell doors were numbered, and so were the keys. She quickly unlocked the cell to the right of hers and swung the door open. She blinked in confusion at the creature curled up in the corner on a small rug. Dark, brindled fur, wide-set head, powerful jaws. He  _looked_ like a dog, but his presence in her mind was human. The animal opened his eyes and raised his head to look at her. His fur rippled, and limbs elongated, and suddenly there was a man standing before her. He was short, only a few inches taller than she was, his hair and beard shaggy and overgrown. He was gaunt, his ribs visible under skin that hadn't been touched by sun in a long, long time.

" _Wer bist du?"_ he whispered in a voice rough from disuse. Nyssa extended a hand towards him.

" _A friend,"_ she replied in German.  _"A captive, like you. My name is Nyssa."_  He hesitantly moved towards her, unsteady on his feet as if he was no longer accustomed to walking on two legs, and sniffed at her outstretched hand. Nyssa stood still, allowing the olfactory inspection, then gestured down the hallway.  _"Zeit zu fliehen."_ He stared at her a moment, his expression hidden behind his facial hair, then shook his head.

" _Nicht ohne Felsma,"_  he responded. Nyssa frowned, confused by the unfamiliar word.

"Not without… Felsma?" she repeated. Before her eyes, the man transformed back into a dog not much taller than her knees, and scrambled out of the cell. Sniffing the ground, he led her down three more doors, then sat and waited expectantly. Nyssa shuffled quickly through the keys and found the one for the door he indicated. She unlocked it and swung it open, half-expecting to find another creature just like the man. This cell was not completely bare. A lamp was suspended over a back corner, casting yellow light onto a humanoid shape with green, scaly skin and streaks of red splashed across the spine. With an excited huff and wagging tail, the dog darted to the creature, dropping to his belly and cuddling up next to it – no, her, Nyssa realized. The feminine figure stirred, and her canine companion whined and began licking her face. A graceful green hand began stroking the dog's head and neck, and Felsma rolled towards the door, turning wide, round, dark eyes outlined in bright blue towards Nyssa. With a sniff, the dog excitedly spun in circles, darting towards Nyssa in the doorway, then back to his reptilian friend. Slowly, she stood, looking at Nyssa curiously. Nyssa gestured to her, and the woman's mouth dropped open in surprise. Nodding, Felsma followed the dog out of the tiny room, her hand scratching behind his ear as they walked side by side.

Nyssa shook her head in wonderment and moved down the hall to the next cell that she sensed held a prisoner. This one flinched away as the door swung open, blinking suspiciously at the light. He appeared to be human, at least at first glance, and young. Nyssa estimated he couldn't be much older than sixteen, with a shock of white-blonde hair shaggy and unkempt. He was wearing some kind of straightjacket that kept his arms bound around his sides. An odd sort of humming seemed to be coming from the jacket. He stared at Nyssa for a moment, then at the open door behind her, and charged through, pushing past her. He rushed down the corridor into darkness, his footsteps fading after a moment.

Nyssa reached a hand after the fleeing boy, then decided with a sigh to move on to the last door that she could sense contained someone. She pushed the door open and did a double take. This room was still stone, but larger, and richly furnished with toys, a dresser and an adorable purple canopy bed. A little girl with a riot of golden curls atop her head was hanging from the wall, her hands and feet gripping the flat surface easily. She stared at Nyssa as she jumped off the wall and transformed into a puppy with a curly golden coat. Lunging at her, the little dog nipped at her hand. Nyssa pulled back at the last moment, the dog's teeth snapping in the air inches away, but felt a jolt of electricity zapping through her. Then the golden-haired poodle pup scampered away, her high-pitched yelps echoing through the stillness. Nyssa watched her go grimly, a sinking feeling in her stomach that her luck had just run out. Felsma and the dog were still watching her, standing a few meters away.

" _Diesen Weg,"_ Nyssa called over her shoulder as she sprinted down the hall. Her leg was still sore, but now no more so than the rest of her body. Vito's mind had shown her the layout of this place, including its sole exit. She needed to use this knowledge now, before it faded. The guards were starting to awaken, no doubt due to the barking of the little girl she had freed. Desperation gave her feet speed. The dog darted past her, then kept pace, running just ahead. She glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Felsma creeping along the ceiling. Left turn. Up a flight of stairs. Right turn. They were starting to group in the hall by the cells she and the others had just vacated, and she imagined it wouldn't be long before Vito was discovered, and they figured out what happened. But she was almost to the door, almost to the exit, and escape, and freedom.

There was an escape hatch ahead, a large locking wheel at its center, and not a moment too soon, for now they were being pursued. Nyssa reached for it, straining to turn it, but in her weakened state, she could not budge it. The dog transformed back into a man beside her, his hands joining hers in the effort. After several moments of straining, it screeched, then moved. Now the guards were almost upon them. Felsma dropped down on top of the men, creating a distraction, but the guards turned on the reptilian woman. There was a crackle of electricity from the batons they struck her with, and she shrieked in pain. The man's attention snapped to the distressed woman, and he instantly shifted into canine form, snarling and snapping as he launched himself at the guards. Nyssa kept turning the wheel, and finally the door swung open. She gasped as a glacial gust of wind hit her, but still stepped forward.

Half a heartbeat later, she was grasping at the wheel for dear life as she dangled over frozen nothingness, with sharp rocks far below. She was surrounded by nothing but snow-covered mountains, and the door she clung to was near the top of an icy peak. Unless she could learn to fly in the next few seconds, there could be no escape this way. Even with the power of flight, she was likely to freeze in short order. For a moment, she was tempted to let go anyway. Death would be quick, and at least then they could not force her to serve them. Images flickered through her mind. Kids at the youth centers that called her Mama Nyssa. Friends and colleagues at the Foundation, anxiously awaiting her return. Good friends that had stood by her for years, ones she had just recently met. Bucky, hopefully still alive. His face hung in her mind's eye, and tears prickled at the edges of her eyes. No. There had to be another way. She just had to figure it out. Swinging her legs back and forth like a pendulum, she gained enough momentum to propel herself back through the door. Her feet landed on the cold hard floor and her legs buckled, her energy dissolving as despair washed away adrenaline. Felsma was lying prone on the floor, her arms covering her head, and the still, doggish form was sprawled several feet away. Unconscious, not dead, Nyssa realized thankfully. She glanced around at the guards, who were standing watching her with arms folded over chests. One of them hurled a mocking, jeering remark at her, and they all began to laugh. Hope fled, and she slumped to the floor. She offered no resistance as they dragged her back to her cell.


	27. Backwards

"Already?" Sam's voice was disbelieving. Steve shrugged.

"That's what the doctor says. He's ready to be discharged already." Steve couldn't suppress his smile. "I mean, we knew he had accelerated healing, like me. I've never had a limb replaced, so I don't have anything to compare to, but I'm willing to take Kuhle's word for it."

"He was still in so much pain yesterday," Wanda noted fretfully. They were all walking together towards the medical wing, Steve and Sam leading the way, Wanda slightly behind them, looking pensively out the windows as they walked by. "And you know he'll push himself before he's ready if we let him."

"I think you're underestimating Wakandan medicine," Sam reminded her.

"I think you're underestimating Bucky," Steve put in. She raised her eyebrows at both of them.

"And Clint? What do you think?" she asked over her shoulder. Clint was trailing after them, tossing and catching a baseball that Cooper had brought with him. He glanced at Wanda and shrugged.

"I think we'll find out soon enough," he said, catching the ball and holding onto it. They fell silent as they filed through the medical wing. Bucky was getting dressed as they filed into his room, facing the windows as he pulled his shirt over his head and tugged it down to cover his torso. Clint pushed past Steve and, before anyone could say anything, threw the ball directly at Bucky's head. Bucky half-turned, seizing the ball in a fist that gleamed metallic in the sunlight coming in the window. The rest of them turned and stared at Clint in shock, but the archer just folded his arms over his chest and smirked. "I'd say he's ready," he declared. Bucky raised an eyebrow and tossed the ball back to Clint.

"Clint!" Wanda gasped, scandalized. "What if you'd hit him?" Clint shrugged.

"Obviously, he heals fast," he pointed out.

"Anyone else have something to throw at me?" Bucky asked dryly. "Or did you all just come to see the new hardware?"

"We came to see you, Bucky," Wanda said quietly.

"Although that arm is damn impressive," Sam commented, stepping closer to see Shuri's handiwork. Bucky flexed and moved the arm obligingly, making the sections shift. "I can't wait to see it in action on our mission." Bucky blinked at Sam.

"Mission? What mission?" he asked crisply.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Steve interrupted, his blue eyes focused on his old friend. "How are you feeling?" Bucky shrugged, leaning back against the windowsill and folding his arms over his chest.

"Fine, I'm fine. Shoulder feels… better than I was expecting, anyway. What mission?" His eyes flickered from one friend to another, as if he could ascertain their secrets just from staring hard enough.

"The king might have a lead on where those helicopters went," Sam blurted out. "We have a meeting with him about it in twenty minutes." Bucky straightened up and headed for the door. Wanda quickly looked around the room, shoving the rest of his belongings into the bag on the bed.

"Count me in," Bucky grunted as Steve jogged to catch up with him.

"Has the doctor cleared you for combat?" Steve asked. Bucky glanced sideways at him.

"Don't care."

"Buck, I just want to make sure you're up for…. Whatever we might find. The last thing I want is for you to wind up getting hurt." Bucky stopped short, and Steve nearly ran into him.

"This coming from the guy who tried to fight Donny Perkins while in the middle of an asthma attack?" he scoffed at Steve, who blinked at him. With a muttered expletive, he paced towards the windows, then back towards his friend. "You know, I never treated you as less than competent. Seems to me, you could at least show me that much fucking respect." Steve blinked at him in confusion.

"Nobody is questioning your competence, Bucky," he protested.

"No? Just me, then," Bucky growled, and stalked away. Steve glanced at the others, who were watching with varying degrees of shock, curiosity and alarm. He held up a hand for patience, then chased after his oldest friend.

"Hold on, Bucky," he called, but the dark figure stalking away didn't respond. "Now, wait just a damn minute!" That seemed to get Bucky's attention; at least, he stopped. When Steve caught up with him, he was standing looking out a window, his hands balled into fists and pressed against the sill.

"Look," he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper, "I can understand why you wouldn't want me along."

"Buck, I never said you couldn't…" Steve began to argue, but Bucky wasn't listening.

"I'm not like the rest of you guys. I'm not a hero. I'm just a killer…" He rambled ahead like a freight train, so focused on what he wanted to say that there wasn't much room for much else.

"Well, that's debatable. And really, mostly semantics," Steve tried.

"I've mostly just made a mess of everything, and I know I don't deserve it, but I need to be a part of whatever you guys are doing, at least until Nyssa is safe." His fist clenched even more tightly. Steve grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him to face him.

"We were never planning to leave you behind," Steve assured him. "You're part of this team." Bucky glanced over at Sam, Wanda and Clint, who were watching from down the hall and out of earshot. Grief and shame chased each other briefly across his handsome features, and he looked down at the ground for a moment, then back up at Steve.

"That's the part that seems so fucking backwards," he said, his voice rough with unshed tears. "I'm here… Safe… With friends… And she's…" He couldn't finish the sentence. He shook his head. "I thought they were after me. They should have taken me, not her." Steve's expression was sad but compassionate.

"There's no should haves in these situations. There's just what is, and what we're going to about it. We will find her."

"You shouldn't make promises you might not be able to keep, Steve," Bucky said wearily, thinking of other promises broken recently.

"I don't," Steve replied stubbornly. "And you're wrong about being a hero, Buck. You'll see."

"Been a pretty shitty one so far," he muttered. Steve raised his eyebrows at him.

"Being a hero doesn't mean you never make mistakes," the blond man reminded him. "In fact, sometimes it means your mistakes are even bigger." A glint of humor returned to Bucky's eyes despite his despair.

"Like crashing your plane into the arctic without giving anyone your coordinates?" he mentioned dryly.

"I was thinking more like accidentally creating an android that decides it wants to destroy the human race," Steve replied. "But I guess that works, too. We should get going, though. It's not polite to keep the King waiting."

* * *

"We have received intelligence that fragments from the meteor are located at these coordinates, here." T'Challa waved his hands over the three-dimensional map projected in the middle of the room, causing the images to enlarge, zoom in and focus on an island in the Tyrrhenian Sea, off the western coast of Italy. "It appears to be an underground structure of some sort."

"What type of structure?" Steve asked. "Military post? Research facility? Evil lair?" T'Challa shook his head.

"All we have been able to ascertain, without sending in my own spies, is that it draws a great deal of power, and the fragments are being held there," the king replied. "Our information on the facility is not exhaustive. The meteor fragments they took contain very small amounts of vibranium, but they are also unstable, and give off a type of radiation that is easy to track, if one knows what to look for. They also have mutagenic properties, so the sooner we can recover them, the better."

"How heavily guarded is it?" was Steve's next question.

"There are usually patrols of one or two on the island itself. We do not know how many are inside."

"Entrances, exits?"

"Satellite footage shows only one way in or out." T'Challa manipulated the map again, zooming further in to show a door, nearly hidden by the surrounding hillside.

"Any evidence that they are keeping anything else, or anyone else, at this location?" Steve asked, glancing at Bucky, who was a dark shadow in the corner.

"We have not seen any sign that Dr. Taylor is being held there currently, no." T'Challa's look was not unsympathetic. "I assure you, I have my best agents listening and looking for any sign of where she might be. If there are any whispers, they will alert me to them."

"And since the people who took those are the same ones who took her, even if she isn't there, we might be able to uncover information that points us in the right direction," Sam pointed out. T'Challa nodded his agreement.

"That was my thought as well," he confirmed.

"Are you sending anyone other than us?" Steve asked. T'Challa sighed, running a hand down his face.

"This is a situation that calls for delicacy," he said carefully. "I have no desire to declare war on Italy, so the less that can be traced back to Wakanda, the better. The aircraft you will be going in is one that carries our technology, but was not originally our design, so it will be difficult to identify. I would go with you myself, but I find that too many things here need my attention." Bucky snorted softly from his post holding up the wall.

"No backup; no intel on strength, manpower, defenses, layout, no idea what we'll find; only one way in or out…" He shook his head. "It sounds like your favorite kind of mission, Steve."

"Well then, when do we leave?" Clint asked, rubbing his hands together. The door to the briefing room burst open, and Scott burst in, slightly out of breath.

"Hey guys," he said, looking around the room. "What did I miss?" Steve chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder on his way to the door.

"Suit up," he told the latecomer. "I'll get you caught up on the plane."

* * *

Nyssa curled up in a corner, dozing from a position where she could still watch the door. She opened her eyes as a ripple of excitement seemed to flow through the guards. Widening her senses, she perceived the approach of someone coming to the facility. The speed of the approach implied a plane or other flying vehicle. Given the emotional response of the guards, it was someone important. She was almost too aching and exhausted to be curious. Almost. A name rippled into her consciousness.  _Count Nefaria._ Either coming to inspect his captives, or the progress made on whatever project Sturdy was working on, she guessed.

Time no longer had meaning here, but it didn't seem very long before they were beginning to gather outside her cell. She sat up and looked expectantly at the door. Five of them rushed in with the same collar-on-a-stick as last time. She weighed her options, remembered there was no escape, and cooperated. She needed to conserve her strength for when it might really matter. This time, they fastened long chains to the collar, four in total, and cuffed her wrists together behind her. They walked her, two in front and two behind, out of the cell and down the insulated corridors. They didn't seem to be taking her to be tortured this time, or at least not to that same location. Instead, she found herself in a large room, standing before a tall man with an imposing demeanor, dressed in an expensive-looking suit, complete with cravat and cape. The ends of her chains were clipped to rings set into the floor, sprawled out like a compass, preventing her from taking more than a step in any direction.

"Count Nefaria, I presume?" Her voice was rough and weak, but loud enough to carry in the stillness of the room. He bowed slightly towards her, sweeping his cape grandly.

"Indeed, Dr. Taylor," he replied in a thick Italian accent. "Professor Sturdy tells me you have been less than cooperative."

"Is that why you have me trussed up like Hannibal Lecter?" she asked, keeping her tone light. "Imagine that, a room full of big, strong, dangerous men, frightened of a tiny woman like me." Count Nefaria chuckled at her.

"You are trying to play off my vanity," he observed. "It will not work. You have given us plenty of reasons that this level of… caution… is necessary." He turned, still regarding her coolly, and walked slowly in a wide circle around her, skirting the points where her chains were anchored. "I have come personally, Dr. Taylor, to make you an offer. I give you one last chance to cooperate with us, voluntarily. We have an expression in Italy -  _cane non mangia cane._ You are a person of significant reputation in America, and I do respect that. If you willingly help me, perhaps I can also help you. I have agents directly involved with the American government, gathering information on your Enhanced citizens. I know you have been identified as one. If you help me, you will find your name has vanished from their lists, and they no longer have any information on any abilities you may have." He stopped and turned to face her. "That would make your life much easier, no?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"We have a saying in America, too," she shot back. "Go fuck yourself." He drew back from her, an appalled expression on his aristocratic features.

"Well, that is hardly ladylike," he noted. Nyssa stepped towards him as far as the chains would allow and bared her teeth at him.

"I guess I'll have to brush up on proper etiquette when kidnapped and tortured," she replied sarcastically.

"Indeed," Nefaria agreed. "If you will not willingly assist us in gathering the information we need, Dr. Taylor, we do have other methods. Professor Sturdy has a quite brilliant idea for how we might harness the power you hold in your mind, and I will allow him to try. If, by some chance, the procedure fails and you do not survive, well…" He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "All I am truly interested in is that marvelous brain of yours, anyway." He turned, his cape swirling around him. "Last chance, Doctor. Are you in, or shall I tell Professor Sturdy he may do with you as he wishes?" Nyssa glared.

"I have a counteroffer, Count," she declared. "Let me go, and maybe, just maybe, nobody finds out about your criminal enterprise here, or your ties to the Maggia."

"Ah, but you are forgetting who has the upper hand," he reminded her. "Nobody will find you here. You have nobody here to tell. If you will not cooperate, I cannot let you go; you simply know too much."

"Release me!" she shouted, her tone commanding, channeling every bit of fortitude and sway she could command into the energy behind the words. Two of the guards stepped towards her, and one of them bent down and released the clasp on one of the chains holding her. She still found herself unable to move far with the three remaining still attached to the floor. Count Nefaria gave her a superior smile.

"That is a nice party trick," he said condescendingly. "But we both know there is no way for you to escape from this place." He waved his hand dismissively. "Take her away. Tell Sturdy he may proceed." He turned and strode towards the door, his cape billowing out behind him. Nyssa waited until the moment the chains were unfastened from the floor, before the guards had a good grip on the ends. Then she spun in a circle, bringing her still-bound hands from behind her back, over her head and in front of her. Grabbing two of the chains, she began whirling them in a circle above her head. The guards dove and scrambled out of the way, but not before she struck several of them with the flying fetters. She began edging towards the door, keeping her captors at bay with the whirling chains. Nefaria had come here in some kind of transport. She could sense they were still waiting for him at the entrance. It was a long shot, but she wasn't willing to just accept this as her fate. She wasn't going down without a fight. She made it to the door and darted through, the chains clenched in her still-bound hands.

She stopped short a few minutes later as Sturdy appeared before her, holding the handle that had been attached to her collar earlier. She took a step towards the scientist, spinning the chains she held in her hands, but he brandished the handle like a weapon. She advanced on him, but he pressed something at the base of the handle, and she fell to her knees as an electric charge coursed through her, stealing the breath from her body. Sturdy stood over her, snapping the long handle back into place on her collar. He twisted the end of it, and even more electric current surged through her body. She was only vaguely aware of hearing laughter as she shrieked and convulsed on the floor.


	28. Mission

The plane that T'Challa outfitted them with had lived a previous life before crashing in Wakanda, that was clear. Bucky was pretty sure he recognized the basic design, even though it had been streamlined and updated with the latest in Wakandan tech. He settled in by a window, put in the earbuds to his music player in his ears, and stared out the window as they took off. Steve had already briefed him on their strategy, and he didn't feel inclined to sit and bullshit with the others during the trip. Instead, he watched the land below go from verdant green to dry taupe, then to shimmering blue, all while listening to the music pouring into his ears. The others left him alone most of the way there.

_Trust I seek, and I find in you…._ Bucky closed his eyes, remembering their night together, the happiness of the memory now tinged with despair. He felt as if he had somehow managed to sneak his way into heaven, but had been found out and cast back into hell. He opened his eyes and glanced over at the others, keeping a respectful distance from him but engaged with one another, chatting and smiling together. He wondered if it was as obvious to them as it was to him what a misfit he was. Shifting in his seat, he looked away, staring out the window again.

_…and nothing else matters…_ The seat next to him rocked slightly as Sam plopped down into it. Bucky pointedly ignored him. Sam pointedly ignored that fact, and tapped him on the shoulder. Bucky pulled out one earbud and shot his friend a withering look.

"You know we can hear that clear on the other side of the plane, right?" Sam asked, unperturbed by his friend's dirty look. Bucky hadn't realized the volume would carry that far, but he covered up his surprise with a glare.

"So?" he responded. Sam chuckled.

"So, I know that you've been listening to the same song on repeat since we took off. Which means we've all been listening to the same song on repeat. Now, I don't mind a little bit of Metallica every now and again, but if you're going to make me listen to that same song another fifty times…" Sam shook his head. "I might just snap by the time we get there, go all Midnight Soldier on you." Despite himself, Bucky grinned. Sam held his hand out. "Let me see that thing. What else do you have on there?" Silently, he handed over the music player, and Sam quickly scrolled through some of the selections. "You've got a little bit of everything here, I see. Sinatra, Elvis, Aretha, Ramones, Gladys, Beatles; Earth, Wind and Fire… and you didn't forget my man Marvin. Here, give this one a listen." Sam cued up a new song, and Bucky settled back, suddenly grateful for the distraction.

* * *

A couple hours later, they were buckling in for the approach. The facility they were heading to was camouflaged, and blended in with the rocky terrain. If they hadn't known it was there, it was easy to overlook. The tiny island was mostly cliffs and mountains, which made landing tricky, but Clint was up to the task. He settled the plane down on a narrow stretch of sand along the coastline, and they disembarked under the cover of darkness. Steve quickly took out the sole guard that was patrolling the grounds around the building. Ant-Man shrank down and climbed into the control panel to the side of the entrance that blended into the surrounding rocks. A few moments later, the door clicked and swung open, revealing a short hallway leading to a narrow staircase. They filed in, weapons at the ready. Steve was first, leading with his shield in case of a surprise attack. Behind him, Bucky kept his assault rifle primed and ready, his eyes taking in their surroundings, identifying any potential threats. Flanking Bucky, Sam aimed the handheld scanner T'Challa had given them. The instrument was calibrated to detect the particular type of radiation that the meteor fragments emanated, and would be able to guide them in the right direction. Trailing behind them, Wanda kept her eyes and ears open, eyes flashing red as she scanned around them. Clint brought up the rear, bow at the ready, walking backwards half the time as he covered their six. They were prepared for anything. Anything, really, except for what they found.

"For a military facility, they aren't very well defended," Wanda commented, her voice echoing in the silence. Behind her, Clint slowly lowered his bow.

"That's because it's not a military installation," he realized out loud. The procession slowed. Ant-Man suddenly came out of a door halfway down the corridor.

"It's a research facility," he declared. "You guys should see the equipment they have in here." They filed through the door and found themselves in a large room filled with very expensive-looking equipment. Several computer stations were scattered throughout the room, each stationed by a different device. Bucky found himself drawn to a window overlooking an isolated room containing only one large apparatus; a large cube with a hole in the middle. Somehow, he knew this was medical-related.

"What's this one?" he asked. Sam came over to look.

"MRI machine," he informed Bucky. "Stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging, so you should probably never go near one when it's operating. Usually used for scanning internal organs and tissues in a hospital setting." Bucky nodded. Once he'd heard the name of it, the association was already there, though he was fairly certain he'd never seen or heard of it before.

"She was here," he said softly. Sam raised his eyebrows at him.

"She was?" he repeated skeptically. "How do you know?" Bucky shrugged and shook his head.

"I just know. Just like I know she isn't here now," he replied. Sam looked at his friend sideways, but decided not to press the issue.

"Maybe they've got something on their surveillance tapes," Sam suggested. "Or some kind of record on the computers." Bucky nodded slowly. Sam held up the radiation detector. "We still need to find those fragments, though. Let's not forget why we're here." Bucky shot him a sidelong glance.

"I know why I'm here. It's not to look for some fucking rocks," he replied.

"Settle down, Buck," Steve said, coming up behind them. "We'll have time for both. Sam, are you getting anything?" Sam turned and pointed the instrument at the wall, slowly turning until it started flashing lights and making noise. Sam waved his arm to gather the attention of the rest of the group. "Hey, this way!" he called. The others came over to join them, and Sam led the procession out of the large testing room and into a back hallway. The detector was going crazy as they approached a door that was locked with a secure keypad below the handle. They all froze as they heard footsteps coming closer – the other night guard. Wanda slipped down the corridor and found the man shining his flashlight around with a puzzled look on his face. Waving her hands near his head, she wove a vision of… normalcy. Everything was as it should be, nothing was out of place. The guard turned around and shone his flashlight right in her face. She squinted and brought her hands up to shield her eyes. He stared for a moment, looking as if he was seeing right through her, then moved his flashlight further down the hallway, heaved a big sigh, and started back towards the guard station. Wanda turned and backtracked to where she had left the others, and arrived just as Ant-Man got the locked door open.

The room they entered was lined with locked cabinets and drawers labeled only with alphanumeric codes. Bucky glanced around at them, wondering what was in the ones they hadn't come to break into, but didn't waste too much time with speculation. Sam led them to a medium-sized cabinet, and Scott set to work trying to figure out how to crack the lock on it. They all froze as the night watchman walked past the room, opened the door for a moment, and shined his light in. The beam of his flashlight flickered from one dark corner to another, scanning quickly across the group of intruders who were bracing to attack as soon as he confronted them. But Wanda's charm held. The guard stared blankly right through them, then shut the door and moved on with his rounds. Scott resumed his attempt to pick the lock on their intended target.

Sighing in exasperation, Bucky stepped up next to Scott, grabbed the handle of the door he was trying to unlock, and tore it open. Inside the compartment, a pile of benign-looking rocks lay in a clear plastic bin. Scott blinked at Bucky in surprise.

"Another couple minutes and I would have had it!" he insisted. Bucky frowned at him.

"We don't know how many minutes we have left," he pointed out. "Where's that case?" Scott sighed and pulled a chest that looked like dollhouse furniture out of his pocket.

"Right here," he said, and put it on the floor, then dropped a small disc on it. The coffer immediately enlarged, leaving enough space inside it for the contents of the locker. They wasted no time in loading the meteor fragments into the strongbox, which was designed with a radiation-proof lining for everyone's safety. Clint picked it up, grunting a little under its weight.

"I'll get this loaded and start prepping for takeoff," he informed the group. Steve tossed him a salute, and the rest of them filed back into the testing room.

"If I can get into the guard station, I can see if they record their security feed," Scott offered. Steve nodded.

"Wanda, go with him to help keep the guard distracted," he directed. Wanda nodded and followed Scott out the door. Sam was already at one of the computers outside the MRI station. "Any luck?" Steve asked. Sam shook his head.

"Everything's password protected," he sighed. "Hacking isn't exactly my area of expertise."

"Try this," Wanda said over the comm. "Login capital L, capital B, lowercase a-t-t-a-g-l-i-a; password capital M, lowercase i-l-a 522010." Sam typed it in, and blinked in surprise as it was accepted and took him to the next screen.

"Okay, I'll bite," he said. "How did you know that would work?"

"I didn't." Her voice over their earpieces was somewhat bemused. "But the guard did."

"Wanda, what did you do to the guard?" Steve asked.

"Nothing serious," she protested. "He's just taking a little nap."

"So hard to get good help these days," Scott joked over the line. "Sleeping on the job…" Sam snorted and shook his head, scanning through folders and files on the workstation. Behind him, Bucky looked on with his arms folded over his chest.

"What am I looking for?" Sam asked, half to himself. "Everything's in code. I've got case files, but there's probably a couple hundred here. I don't have time to go through them all."

"Um, try 35863-NT," Scott suggested. Sam scanned through and found the file. When he pulled it up, the first thing that appeared was a lot of words in Italian, and at the bottom of the page, a headshot of Nyssa. She was looking dully at the camera, her expression flat, eyes heavy lidded and slightly unfocused.

"Looks like that's it," Sam noted. "Now, what do you have, Scott? There's no way that was a lucky guess." There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. "Scott?"

"I've got an AV file," he admitted. "Timestamped three days ago."

"Can you patch it through to me?" Sam asked. There was another hesitation.

"Are you sure you want to see it?" Scott asked after a few heartbeats.

"Scott," Bucky growled. "Show us the damned file." Scott sighed, and a window popped up on Sam's screen. It showed a tiny room, bare save for a bench in the corner. A small figure was curled up on her side on the bench, bare feet sticking out of the end of her dress. As they watched, she glanced at the door and shifted, her movements slow and uncoordinated, until she was sitting up, her attention focused off-camera. A man came into view, talking at her mockingly in Italian. She just stared at him, and he came closer, pushing her skirt up to caress her leg. Bucky bristled, and had to remind himself that this was in the past, not happening now. She pushed his hand away and hissed something in Italian. He took a step back but continued to talk to her jeeringly. She looked away, staring blankly into space, expressionless despite what the man was saying. Sam glanced at Bucky.

"Do you mind translating?" he asked. Bucky shook his head and sighed.

"First, he was trying to get her to…"

"Yeah, I got that," Sam cut him off. "What did she say to him?" Despite the unpleasant scene playing out on the tape before them, Bucky half-smiled.

"That if he laid a hand on her, she promised the worst nightmares he could imagine every night for the rest of his life." He frowned down at the screen, fighting to keep his tone level and matter-of-fact. "Then he was telling her she might as well, because nobody knows where she is, nobody will find her, nobody will come for her…" He broke off his narrative as the Nyssa onscreen sat up straighter, looking sharply at the man speaking to her, and croaked a brief reply. He answered, his tone still taunting. She suddenly became more animated, standing up from the bench and yelling at the man. He held his hands up, his manner going from mocking to placating, but she pushed him back against the wall. The video feed was filled with the sound of his screaming as he slid down the wall and collapsed to the floor. Nyssa grabbed the man's gun out of his holster and staggered through the door, leaving him still yelling at nothing in the empty room she had been imprisoned in.

The scene shifted, and they watched her stumble down the hallway, heavily favoring her right leg, movements uncoordinated and one hand braced against the wall to steady herself. More guards swarmed down the hall towards her, and she pushed away from the wall, bracing herself in the center of the corridor and shouting at the approaching men with arms outstretched challengingly at her sides. Two of them grabbed her by the bare arms, but almost immediately drew back as if she had burned them. One of them shrank back, eyes wide in terror, and raised his arms over his head as if to ward off an unseen foe. The other screamed and sprinted in the opposite direction as if a demon were on his heels. Two more men attempted to seize her, but also reacted with panic and terror, fighting off unseen foes and cowering from invisible demons.

The last guard approached, wearing thick leather gloves and holding a long strap. He grabbed her by the arm, quickly ensnaring her wrist with the strap. She glared at him, but he reacted only by twisting her arm behind her back and steering her back down the hallway towards the cell she had escaped from. He grabbed for her other arm to fully restrain her, but she twisted away again, the pistol she had stolen now in her free hand. She fired twice, and he dropped to the floor. She pulled the strap from around her wrist and tossed it away with a screaming sob. She turned back, the camera catching her angry, tear-streaked face. Around her in the hallway, men either lay dead or caught up in the horrors of their own minds. None of them attempted to stop her. She took a handful of unsteady, wobbling steps, the rage in her face transmuting into grief. One shoulder slammed into the wall, and her knees buckled. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, weeping.

A new wave of guards flooded the hallway from the side of the screen, and the huddled figure of Nyssa disappeared beneath them. Her cries turned to screams, and then abruptly stopped. Strolling behind them at a leisurely pace, Sturdy approached with his hands clasped behind his back. The guards parted, revealing Nyssa limp and unmoving on the floor. Sturdy clucked his tongue and shook his head.

"Prep her for transport," he commanded in English. "She's obviously too dangerous to be held here." The guards saluted and obeyed, dragging the unresponsive woman by her wrists. A thin, nervous-looking man wearing a white lab coat approached Sturdy from behind.

"We have the results of her scans, Professor," he reported, his English lightly accented. Sturdy nodded acknowledgement.

"Compile all the data we have on her so far," he said decisively. "She is being transferred."

"Yes, sir," White Coat replied. "Where are you transferring her to?" Sturdy smiled faintly.

"Where else?" he replied. "Nessun Luogo." With a wordless exclamation of triumph, Sam paused the video file and turned to look at Bucky, who was staring at the screen with horror, rage and grief on his face.

"What?" Sam asked. Bucky didn't look at him, his eyes still focused on the screen. "Barnes!" Sam tapped the hand that was clenched so hard on the desk that it had started to crack. Bucky shifted his gaze to his friend. "What did they say to get that kind of reaction?" He didn't specify if he was talking about Nyssa's reaction or Bucky's. Bucky grunted and looked back at the viewscreen.

"They told her I was dead," he replied tersely. Sam's eyes widened.

"Look, I know that was hard to watch," he said, his voice sympathetic, "but at least we have the name of a place now, right?" Bucky let out a bark of humorless laughter.

"Not really," he said, shaking his head and standing up to pace across the room. "Nessun Luogo literally translates to 'Nowhere'."


	29. Rome

They were all somewhat subdued as they boarded the plane for their ride home. Clint got the plane to cruising altitude with very little trouble or ceremony. Scott transferred the files they had found on Nyssa to the onboard computer and ran them through translation software. He scanned through the pages of the medical file with a frown.

"Well, this is supposed to be English," he complained, "but I can't understand half the words." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Let me take a look," he suggested. "Medical terminology is kind of its own language." Scott gave up the chair begrudgingly, and Sam sat down, glancing over at Bucky before turning his attention to the file. "Are you sure you want to know about this?" Bucky nodded.

"Can't be any harder for me to hear about it than it was for her to go through it," he pointed out.

"Fair enough." Sam started skimming through the pages. "Mostly, they seemed to be interested in her brain. There's MRI scans, EEGs, CSF analysis, neurotransmitter levels…"

"And what does all that show?" Steve asked from his seat closer to the front of the plane. Sam let out a long breath.

"Man, I was pararescue, not a doctor. I keep people alive on the battlefield, get them to safety. I don't do diagnosis. Our best option is to get this data to the Wakandan doctors and see what they can make of it." He clicked through a few more pages, leaned in closer to read more, and then tossed Bucky a significant look. "Although if it makes you feel any better, I'm not sure she remembers any of it." Bucky frowned.

"Why wouldn't she remember?" he asked. Sam tapped the screen.

"They were dosing her with midazolam," he replied, "which can cause anterograde amnesia."

"They wiped out her memory?" Wanda gasped in horror. Sam shook his head, raising a hand reassuringly as he explained.

"No, it doesn't wipe out all of your memory. It just keeps you from remembering what happens after you take it, usually for a few hours. But they were giving it every four or five hours, so she might have lost... a couple days, maybe more depending how long they kept giving it to her."

"Wait, so, they basically roofied her?" Scott interjected. Steve, Bucky and Wanda exchanged confused looks. Sam snorted and gave Scott a sidelong glance.

"That's not how I'd put it, but it's fairly accurate," he conceded. Wanda got out of her seat and moved closer, her expression pensive.

"Sam, is there any mention of what happened to the men she… incapacitated?" she asked. Sam's expression went from surprised to thoughtful, and he turned his attention back to the file.

"Let's see…" Sam scanned through silently for a few minutes, then heaved a sigh. "From what I'm seeing, they're dead."

"How?" Steve asked, glancing worriedly at Bucky.

"Gunshot wound, uh, hanging, drowning, um, evisceration…" Sam grimaced and quickly clicked past the more graphic parts of the reports. "All self-inflicted."

"All of them?" Wanda repeated incredulously. Sam nodded.

"Yeah… they even included pictures. I'm not touching the video, but that's there too," he confirmed grimly.

"No, I mean… was that all of them? Or did someone survive?" she clarified.

"Actually…" Sam pulled up one last page. "They did transfer one of them to a hospital in Rome, after the others killed themselves. For safety reasons. Last entry here, he keeps talking about a demon trying to kill him, and isn't making much sense."

"Maybe not," Wanda said contemplatively, "but maybe he knows the place they took her. What was it? Nessun Luogo?"

"So what are you suggesting, Wanda?" Steve asked, looking like he already knew. Wanda shrugged lightly.

"I'm just thinking maybe it would be worth paying him a little visit." She ambled up to the cockpit and sat down in the copilot's seat next to Clint. "Do you mind a slight change in course?" Clint glanced at her with a smirk.

"We're heading to Rome. Did you want to change our course from that?" She smiled at him.

"I should have known you were paying attention," she mused. She looked around the edge of the seat to Steve. "Do you think T'Challa will mind us taking a little detour?" Steve shrugged, shaking his head.

"I think this is a case where it might be better to beg forgiveness than ask permission."

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Bucky asked, glancing at his reflection. Steve nodded.

"It makes sense for you and Wanda to go," he pointed out. "You speak the language, and she can see if he knows something even if he isn't up to talking."

"You're not worried we'll be recognized? It's only been a little over a year since my face was all over the news," Bucky worried.

"I wouldn't worry about that too much," Wanda said from behind him. She had vanished into the lavatory right after Clint confirmed they were heading to Rome, and none of the men had been inclined to hassle her. But now she had evidently reappeared. He turned to face her and did a double take. Instead of a petite, auburn-haired woman with a heart-shaped face and kind eyes, before him stood an elegant woman with pronounced, aristocratic features, piercing blue eyes, olive skin and hair that fell just past her shoulders in raven-colored waves. His jaw sagged just a little, and he blinked at her in astonishment.

"How?" he managed to ask. The woman grinned at him, and suddenly her face was Wanda's again.

"Just a little trick I've been practicing," she explained. "No one will recognize us. I can manipulate their perceptions of us, so they see completely different people." She played with a lock of still-dark hair next to her face. "The hair color is real, though. The box said it should be temporary." She reached out and laid a hand on Bucky's new arm. "Just make sure you keep the arm covered, especially if we get separated. It's memorable." Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I know how to do incognito," he grumbled. Wanda shook her head.

"No hoodies or baseball caps this time," she said with a teasing smile. "Just long sleeves, and leave the rest to me." She linked her arm through his. "Are you ready to go?"

"No," he grunted. "But the sooner we go, the sooner we find out where she is." Together, they strolled out of the concealment field their aircraft was equipped with, suddenly emerging on the street. Nobody around them seemed to notice their sudden appearance. He glanced over at Wanda, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable promenading around Rome with a beautiful woman on his arm. She seemed to sense his discomfort and looked over at him.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Do we have to walk so close together?" he hissed at her.

"Not technically," she replied, "but it does make it easier for me to maintain the illusion, and this is my first time trying it in public. Besides, we're posing as a couple. You could at least pretend to like me." Her tone was playful, but it didn't help put him at ease.

"I do like you," he murmured back. "I just… I mean… I don't… I'm not… Not like…" He cast about for the right words, formed several different phrases in his mind, but none of them seemed quite right. Wanda patted the arm linked through hers with her free hand.

"I know that," she reassured him. "And so does she." Bucky heaved a sigh, refocusing his attention on the mission at hand.

"Do you think this guy will tell us anything?" he asked  _sotto voce._

"If he knows anything, we will find out," Wanda promised. She looked up at Bucky. "You know they also sent me with to make sure you weren't too hard on him, right?" He scoffed and stared down at his feet as they stepped along the cobblestones.

"I'm not planning to do too much more than talk to him," he said defensively. Wanda shrugged dismissively, tilting her head back to look at the architecture of the buildings as they strolled past them.

"I'm not too worried about it," she said lightly. Bucky looked over at her sharply. She met his eyes, and he discerned the dark thunderclouds gathering behind her normally placid gaze. "She's my friend, too," she reminded him. "After watching that video, I find I am not feeling much like restraint." Bucky raised his eyebrows and suppressed a smile. As tempting as it was to take out all his rage on one unfortunate, they weren't supposed to be attracting any extra attention, so if they found the man still alive, he should remain so when they left. It was possibly the first mission he could recall going on where he had express orders not to kill. It left him somewhat uncertain if he was up to the task, but it was also somewhat refreshing.

* * *

The hospital was a red brick building, unassuming and not nearly as ominous as Bucky had been expecting. They stopped at the visitor's desk and inquired what room number his poor, dear, incapacitated uncle could be found in. They drew far fewer suspicious looks than Bucky had been anticipating, although the look the girl at the visitor's desk gave him threw him into a panic for a few minutes. Then he realized she was trying to flirt with him, and somehow became both more relaxed and intensely more uncomfortable at the same time. Picking up on his tension, Wanda clasped his hand in hers and leveled a scathing and possessive glare at the customer service girl, who suddenly looked nervous. She wrote down a room number, mutely pushed it across the desk towards them and pointed the way to the elevator. Wanda continued looking daggers over her shoulder at the girl as she clung to Bucky's arm possessively. The elevator doors opened, and Bucky was relieved that there was no one else aboard it.

"You are enjoying this far too much," he murmured as he escorted her inside. She smiled at him, a twinkle in her unfamiliar eyes.

"I didn't want her getting the wrong idea, thinking that you're  _available_ ," she teased. Bucky's lips twitched into something that was almost a smile. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out. Bucky was momentarily distracted by a glimpse of a man with dark, curly hair, olive skin and Mediterranean features staring at him. He looked away, trying to act casual, and the man did the same. With a cold shock, he realized there was actually a mirror mounted on the wall across from the elevators, and the man staring at him was his own reflection, transformed by Wanda's magic. He took a step closer, inspecting his new face. His eyes were darker, his brow heavier, his nose sharper, echoes of his usual appearance still present but altered just enough to be both unrecognizable and unnerving. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman sitting behind a desk watching him. He quickly raked his hand through his dark curls, covering the fact that he had been staring at himself by putting a few stray locks back in order. He noticed Wanda – elegant, dark-coiffed Italian Wanda – watching him with thinly veiled amusement.

"Shall we, darling?" she cooed, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the woman sitting behind the desk. He followed obediently, taking a deep breath as they approached.

" _We're here to visit Maurizio Albano,"_ he told the woman in Italian. She smiled and nodded.

" _You are welcome to visit him,"_ she replied in the same language, " _but visiting hour does not begin for another forty-five minutes."_ His jaw clenched; he was anxious to get this over with, and hadn't anticipated having to wait once they had arrived.

_"Can you make an exception?"_ he asked.  _"We traveled a long way to see him."_ The receptionist gave him a long look, and he gave her his best pleading look, then flashed her a smile, hoping Wanda's illusion was persuasive. Her expression softened.

_"I will call the unit and ask,"_ she replied, picking up the phone. He took a step back and focused on a painting on the wall, pretending that he wasn't listening intently to their conversation. His heart sank as the person on the other end apparently did not want them to come and visit right now. The man they wanted to see was causing some problems. The receptionist hung up the phone and shook her head at them. " _Mi dispiace."_

_"But we can see him in forty-five minutes?"_ Bucky tried to confirm. She hesitated.

_"Hopefully,"_ she hedged. Bucky took a deep breath and prepared to argue with her, but Wanda laid a calming hand on his arm.

"We can come back," she said placatingly. "We should go get something to eat." His stomach growled its agreement, and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since the evening before. With a sigh, he nodded.

"Okay. We'll come back."

* * *

They got lunch at the small café nearby the hospital, munching on sandwiches in silence while Bucky stared out the window broodingly. He could feel Wanda's sympathetic gaze on him, heard her intake of breath as she prepared to say something to him, felt relief as she decided against it. He wasn't much in the mood for conversation at the moment. He shifted his attention to the clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick by. Every second that passed was another second Nyssa was gone, going through who the hell knew what. Memories of his own treatment at the hands of Hydra swam through his head, with Nyssa in place of him. He swallowed, his food suddenly turned to sawdust in his mouth, and wrapped the rest of his sandwich back up.

"You don't like your sandwich?" Wanda asked. "Do you want some of mine? It's actually quite tasty." Bucky shook his head.

"Just not hungry," he muttered. Wanda raised skeptical eyebrows, but didn't challenge him.

"You know, she had quite a strong reaction to what they told her," she mused. "Even I could tell that. But I'm curious what she was yelling at them. You never translated that part." Bucky looked away from the clock to stare at his companion. She gave him an expectant look. "Well?" He shifted in his seat.

"Um, called them murderers. Some other things that aren't… meant for polite company." He looked off into space for several long moments. He knew Italian profanity, but Nyssa had shown considerable creativity in her use of it. "Actually, a rather impressive command of the more vulgar parts of the language. Surprising."

"Were you surprised by it?" Wanda had an impish smile. "I'm not."

"No?" Bucky raised his eyebrow at her. She shook her head.

"She reads minds, hears people's thoughts," she reminded him. He nodded slowly.

"I know that," he growled, waiting for her to make her point.

"People don't censor their thoughts, Bucky," she said patiently. His eyes widened slightly, and he sat back in his chair. He'd never considered that aspect, what it might be like to hear people at their rawest and least guarded. "But anyway," Wanda continued, "it seems to me that her reaction just goes to show how strong her feelings are for you. Don't you think?" She took another bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly, her eyes smiling at him as he let her words sink in, his eyes widening and eyebrows rising.

"Uh… I don't think…" He stammered, then fell silent as he found himself at a loss for words.

"Don't think what? That anyone could ever love you? That someone like her could have feelings for someone like you? That you deserve to be loved?" Wanda asked. He stared at her, then looked away.

"Are you spying in my head, too?" he asked suspiciously.

"No," she answered. "I was just going to point out that, obviously, she has different opinions on what you deserve." Bucky didn't have an answer for that. Obvious to Wanda, maybe, but it hadn't even occurred to him. He shifted his gaze back to the clock. Still twenty more minutes until they could even attempt to question the one surviving thug. Twenty more minutes to think and reflect on all the things that had gone wrong up to this point, and all the things that could yet go wrong. This new information – that she almost certainly cared about him, maybe even loved him – made him feel both better and worse at the same time. And once again, his thoughts circled back to all the ways he had failed. His restless gaze fell once again on Wanda, who was watching him intently. "I think we all disagree with you on that," she said softly. Bucky blinked at her.

"Disagree about what I deserve?" he asked gruffly. "Or that I'm a failure?" Wanda's smile widened.

"Yes," she replied simply.

* * *

The remaining minutes crawled by, but they finally made it back to the hospital floor. The receptionist was just hanging up the phone as they approached the desk, and nodded that they could go back to the unit, directing them through a set of double doors. Bucky hesitated after they went through them to reveal a security guard brandishing a metal detector. This wasn't the first time he'd encountered a situation like this. At the Smithsonian, when he'd gone to look into his own history right after Steve saved him and he walked away from Hydra, there had been a metal detector. He'd had the luck of being a few people behind another man who had set off the sensor, but was able to explain it from an old war injury – a metal rod in his hip. Bucky had adopted the "old war injury" story as his excuse whenever he had to get through a similar situation, and after all, it wasn't entirely a lie. On occasion, though, it wasn't enough, and they had wanted to see whatever he kept under the glove on his left hand or made him take off the jacket and push back his sleeves. Since this invariably led to more awkward, difficult to answer questions, he tried to avoid this at all costs. Wanda's hand slipped into his, derailing his train of thought, and he looked over at her.

"Trust me," she whispered, red fire blazing in her eyes for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he stepped up to the guard, who waved the detector over him. The device, predictably, squealed upon encountering his new arm.

" _E un vecchio infortunio,"_ he explained. " _Una placca metallica."_  The guard didn't look as convinced as he would have hoped, and gestured for him to remove his glove and roll up his sleeve. Glancing at Wanda out of the corner of his eye, he obeyed. To his surprise, instead of revealing the recognizable metal plates that made up his arm, it appeared to be a normal flesh and blood hand and forearm. The guard waved the metal detector over the revealed skin, and when it went off again, he grunted and signaled they could go through. Bucky rolled his sleeve back down and put the glove back on, throwing Wanda an incredulous look. She chuckled softly at him.

"What is the expression?" she murmured. "Oh, ye of little faith?"

Maurizio Albano had been a man of fearsome reputation and quick wit only a few short days ago. Now he was huddled in a corner, his hospital room stripped bare of anything that he could use to harm himself, his eyes wild as they darted from floor to window to door to ceiling. He startled as Bucky and Wanda entered his room, and his eyes widened in recognition.

" _No, no, non sei reale, sei un fantasma, ho guardato morire!_ " he wailed.  _"Volete mi tormenterà per sempre?"_ Bucky paused, for a moment thinking the man had recognized him. Then he realized the man's wide-eyed stare was fixed on a point behind them. He glanced over his shoulder, but saw nothing. With a mental shrug, he decided to capitalize on the man's fear.

" _Not forever,"_ he replied in Italian. " _Only until you tell us where to find Nowhere."_  The man's eyes widened.

" _Non lo so, non lo so!"_ His voice was growing louder. " _Per favore, non farmi del male!_ " He continued to ramble loudly in disjointed Italian, his sentences so jumbled and fragmented that Bucky had difficulty following them, though the theme remained the same. Haunted by demons and restless ghosts, the man was in very real fear for his life. He glanced over his shoulder, worried that one of the nurses would overhear the man's upset and come to investigate. He raised his hands placatingly, but the man seemed incapable of calming. Wanda slipped quietly around him and approached Maurizio, smiling gently and offering him her hand. His expression immediately relaxed, his eyes brightening.

" _Bellisima signora!"_  he exclaimed, clasping her hand. " _Angelo mio_!" Wanda let him hold her hand and ramble on. With her other hand, she cast a red halo over the man's head, letting tendrils of crimson energy flicker through his hair and into his mind. After a long minute, she shot Bucky a startled look.

"He doesn't know," she said, surprise and disappointment in her voice. "He really doesn't know. Nobody does. His mind is so fragmented that it's hard for me to piece together, but it seems to be a place that doesn't officially exist. They blindfold them on the trip there and back, and nobody knows exactly where it is, except for two people. The pilot that takes them there… and Count Nefaria." Bucky's jaw clenched.

"So this trip was a waste of time," he growled.

"Sleep," Wanda whispered to Maurizio, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he sprawled sideways across the bed. She straightened and turned to face Bucky. "Not completely. I know the name of the pilot."

"Great," Bucky huffed. "It's a fucking treasure hunt. This clue leads to that clue, leads to another clue…"

"Don't worry," Wanda patted him on the shoulder as she passed him on the way to the door. "I'm sure you'll get to start punching people soon enough."


	30. Rainbows in the Darkness

Their initial searches of the name Wanda had found turned nothing up. They had a name, but not a location, or plan, or anything else verifiable, so the team opted to fly back to Wakanda with the information they had and the chest full of asteroid fragments. T'Challa had much greater resources at gathering information and intelligence than they did. It was several hours later and the sun was setting again when Bucky found himself back in his quarters. Their mission had become a waiting game, and he was itching to do something, but found himself at a loss. The others had told him to go get some sleep, especially considering he hadn't slept since being discharged from the medical wing, but his bed held no appeal for him. It was something of a relief to get away from the others for a little while. While he was eternally grateful for their support and apparent affection, however foreign it seemed to his battered spirit, their well-intentioned presence was starting to chafe. For the first time since being awakened from his frozen slumber, he missed the icy solitude of a cryochamber. It had little else to recommend it, but at least his mind could stop thinking when he was under, and there were no sympathetic looks or awkward, blaring silences.

He was washing up in the bathroom when his gaze fell on the painting Steve had given him. Seeing her smiling face brought new grief and frustration, and he suppressed the urge to hurl the picture into the garbage can, or rip it from the frame, where it couldn't taunt him anymore. Instead, he carefully lay it face down on the nightstand, trying not to do anything he might regret later. His room suddenly felt stifling, so he stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. Taking a deep breath, he sat down with his back against the wall to the left of the sliding door, half concealed in the shadows where he felt most at home. Amidst the hum of strange insects and the soft cries of nocturnal birds, his eyes drifted shut, and he fell asleep.

His nightmares had him hunting again. Stalking his human prey, firearm clutched in emotionless hands, focused only on the kill. He peered through the scope of his sniper rifle at the lithe form in his sights, his finger tightening on the trigger. The familiar report echoed in his ear, and the figure he only half-recognized as another human dropped to the ground. Everything went dark, and then suddenly there was a spotlight on him. His gun was gone, but his hands dripped crimson blood. A dark image floated before him, passing judgement on his soul, and he ran. He ran even though he wasn't sure what he was running from, or even if he had anywhere to run to. The ground vanished from beneath his feet, and he was falling, falling…

_Look at your arm._ He wasn't really sure why, but he checked the arm anyway. The dully gleaming silver segments, hissing and popping as they moved; the heaviness of the artificial limb, as if pulled down with the weight of all the lives it had taken; the matte red star anointing the shoulder, which had been left out of the Wakandan design…  _You're dreaming._ He wasn't certain of it, but it was worth a try. He closed his eyes briefly, and felt firm ground beneath his feet. He opened them again, and he was standing on the rocks that bordered their lake. His place of peace, his inner calm. But all was not calm here now. The sky above was dark with heavy, angry-looking clouds, and the wind whipped the lake into choppy waves. A deafening clap of thunder shook the ground under his feet, and he tilted his head back as the sky opened and rain poured down, baptizing him in his own anguish.

* * *

It was dark when Nyssa awakened again, lying flat on her back. Not just the darkness of nighttime, or of lights gone out, but a thick, impenetrable darkness that seemed to swallow even the memory of light. Her head was wreathed in pain, a throbbing pressure that was impossible to ignore. She tried to raise a hand to her head, but could only move it a few inches before it was stopped short by a heavy restraint around her wrist. She moved experimentally, and found that all four limbs were restrained. The collar still weighed her down, tight enough to rub painfully over the electrical burns on her neck. She heard a door swing open, and footsteps approaching.

"Ah, Doctor, you are awake. Good." Sturdy's voice seemed unbearably loud in her aching head. "It is time for us to test whether this experiment was successful or not." There were two men with him, and she both heard and felt them approach her on the table. There were loud metallic clanks, and suddenly the table moved, bringing her into a sitting position while still keeping her restrained. The men around her moved unhindered, giving no sign that the darkness bothered them at all. Slowly, it dawned on her that she was not in a dark room at all. There was something wrong with her eyes.

She was blind.

A wave of panic broke over her, drowning out every other sense as she fought to keep still, keep her face composed. She could feel her heart pounding, hear the rush of blood in her ears. For an eternal moment, her world collapsed in on itself, compressing to the pounding in her head and darkness that stretched into forever. Then the wave receded, and she caught her breath and realized that Sturdy had been talking. The man seemed to be enamored with the sound of his own voice.

"…works the way I designed it to, then anything you pick up on will be immediately transmitted to our receiver. So you see, Dr. Taylor, resisting is futile. Your unique brain composition allows us to directly access your thoughts, and through you, the thoughts of everyone you come in contact with. It's quite genius, if I do say so myself." Her stomach lurched, and she wasn't certain if it was her aching head, her alarm over her lost sight, or the smug, self-congratulatory tone of the scientist. "Well, then, let us not waste any more time, shall we? Let's see how it works." There was a high-pitched whine coming from her left, like equipment warming up. The pressure around her head began to vibrate ever so slightly, and she had an odd sensation of her thoughts being whisked away like leaves in a whirlwind.

"Let us begin," Sturdy continued. "We will start with the basics. What is your name?" She did not answer out loud, but the device on her head changed pitch slightly. A jumble of words streamed through her consciousness, swept away before she could even grasp them, everything about who she was, who she had been. The equipment to her left beeped and chirped and whirred benevolently, as if it wasn't siphoning off her deepest secrets and displaying them for all to see. "Evidently even the basic questions don't have basic answers," Sturdy gloated smugly. "You've been keeping quite a lot of secrets, haven't you, Dr. Nyssa Taylor? Or should I call you Vanessa Monterose?" She could feel tears prickling at the edges of her eyes, but clenched her jaw and refused to respond. "No answer?" Sturdy's tone was mocking now. "No matter. We will have all of your secrets soon enough." Nyssa's heart sank to the pit of her stomach as she realized he was right, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

She tried resisting, she really did. She focused on smells, sensations, tried to keep her mind blank, even envisioned the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man at one point, much to Sturdy's amusement. The instant any stray thoughts wandered into her head, they were immediately whisked away to the machine, fed directly to those who were causing her such pain. Eventually, Sturdy seemed to tire of his game. He clapped his hands.

"I think we're ready," he announced. "Bring her." She heard the clink of metal against metal, and her collar shifted. "You aren't having any thoughts of trying to fight or run again, are you, Doctor?" he asked snidely. "If so…" His voice trailed off, and she cried out as an electrical pulse crackled through her collar, burning skin that hadn't yet had a chance to heal. "That was just a warning." She felt the restraints at her ankles and wrists release, and someone pulled on her collar, urging her forward. She moved hesitantly, nearly falling as the first step was lower than she was anticipating. The collar jerked uncomfortably at her neck, keeping her from collapsing on the floor. She regained her feet, and was led by her collar like a dog up corridors and down staircases, her captors preferring to laugh as she bumped into walls and stumble on the steps rather than providing any guidance. She stopped dead at the last doorway, recognizing the smell and the echoes of fear in the room she had recently been tortured in. Bracing herself against the doorframe, she refused to move further, but only found herself dragged along the floor before hands pressed her back into the abhorrently familiar seat, the same cold metal trapping her arms in place.

She felt the weight of Marcus' head press into her hands, and her tears started in earnest, knowing what was coming, knowing that she was powerless to stop it. Her head sagged forward until her forehead was nearly touching his.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered. She felt Luca's presence, but this time he did not announce himself before the blade of his knife sank into Marcus' thigh, drawing a startled scream from both Marcus and Nyssa. He chuckled.

"You both know the drill by now," he reminded them. "Once we get the information we want, this all ends. Tell me, Marcus, what names were at the top of your list?" Marcus didn't even twitch, but the image that popped into his head was an official-looking memo with S.H.I.E.L.D. letterhead on it; a list of names. Nyssa braced herself against the now-familiar sensation of thoughts being siphoned away from her consciousness, but could not stop it. There was a pause in the room, and then Luca clucked his tongue. "And there it is." Nyssa bristled as she sensed Sturdy joining them in the room. Light suddenly flooded into her consciousness, and she realized that she could see what Marcus could, when he bothered to open his eyes.

"Marcus, thank you for the names," Sturdy crowed, and Nyssa felt Marcus' denial, disbelief and despair echoing her own. "Now, I am going to go through this list, one by one, so you can give us more information on each of them." Luca still hovered near the table, disappointment and resentment churning his insides, a black thundercloud on the periphery of Nyssa's awareness. She attempted to pull her hands away from Marcus' head, seeking to break the contact that prevented her from blocking him out, but could not move far enough away. Slowly, deliberately, gleefully, Sturdy gleaned all the information he wanted from Nyssa and Marcus.

After what seemed an eternity of helplessness, Sturdy finally walked away. He paused at the room's door, looking back at the two captives and at Luca, passing his idle time by polishing his tools.

"That will be all, then," Sturdy pronounced. "And as we promised Marcus, now this ends." He left the room, and Luca approached the table with renewed interest. The man glanced towards their tormentor apprehensively, and Nyssa caught a glimpse of him through his eyes.

"Thank you for your service," Luca quoted derisively, and slid a thin, serrated blade between his ribs, once on the left, once on the right in a bizarre perversion of a knighting ritual. "Welcome to the end." He turned and began calmly putting his tools away. It was painful, but not nearly as painful as most of the other things he had done to them. It certainly lacked the drama of a final blow. For a moment, Nyssa thought perhaps he had decided to spare Marcus, but then she felt the pain and pressure in his chest beginning to build, his breath coming in short gasps. Luca finished packing up his implements and approached them again. "Make no mistake, you will die. Slowly, painfully. I imagine you will have enough time to remember every person in your life that you ever wronged, and everyone who will be saddened by your passing. Maybe you will even find time to make peace with your God, though I doubt you will be seeing Him." Nyssa raised her head and turned her unseeing eyes towards their tormentor.

"He gave you what you wanted. You could at least have made his death quick and merciful," she grated out, struggling to breathe herself as the pain in her own chest increased in response. Though she couldn't see it, she could sense the smirk on Luca's face.

"I could have," he agreed. "But where would be the fun in that?" She heard him step closer, could smell his foul breath as he leaned in, felt a sharp prickle against her ribcage. "I could do the same to you. Make sure Sturdy doesn't get any ideas about using a kinder, gentler form of interrogation." She kept her face carefully blank, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her fear as she waited for him to deliver the killing stroke. Instead, she felt the blade slide across her skin and disappear. "But no. It would not be worth the aggravation to kill Sturdy's little pet. Not today." He walked away, leaving her in the room with the dying man.

She cradled Marcus' head in her hands, blocking his pain as much as she could. The sound of his breathing filled the room as he gasped raggedly for breath, his lungs slowly filling up with blood. Her own chest felt like it was about to explode in duplicated pain. She tried to ignore it, tried to offer him feelings of comfort even as tears filled her eyes. The harsh wheezes of him struggling to breathe were growing louder.

_I'm so sorry I couldn't stop them,_ she thought at him. He was too focused on trying to breathe to respond, but she felt a wave of forgiveness, and gratitude for her presence. She cast about for ways she could honor him now, in his last hours. Neither of them could move, she couldn't see, he couldn't speak. But he could hear. Taking a deep breath, she tried to push aside the feeling of pain and constriction in her chest, and sang for him.

_Mama take this badge from me_

_I can't use it anymore_

_It's getting dark too dark to see_

_Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door_

Her voice filled the room with the simple melody, faint and hesitant at first, but clear and wistful. Slowing the tempo down and moving it a half-step into minor key made it more funereal, but it felt fitting to her. Marcus' reaction was surprised, then transfixed, focusing on her voice rather than on the fight to respire.

_Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door_

_Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door_

_Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door_

_Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door_

The acoustics in the chamber were unexpectedly good, both amplifying her voice and giving it an ethereal quality. She concentrated on keeping his pain dulled and keeping her own emotions from closing off her throat. By the end of the second verse, her voice grew in strength. The end of the last chorus reverberated in the corners of the room as she finished.

_Beautiful voice._ She heard his voice in her head, carrying with it the wide curve of a smile.  _You do requests?_

_Anything you want,_ she promised.

_It's silly…_ His next thought was a little bashful.  _A favorite when I was a kid… Mom used to sing it to me._

_Not silly at all,_ she assured him. The burning pressure in her chest was growing along with his, but she tried to ignore it and pulled her shoulders back to give her own lungs more space. It wasn't the first time she had sung this particular song, but this would probably be the most memorable.

_Somewhere over the rainbow way up high_

_there's a land that I have heard of once in a lullaby_

_somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue_

_and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true_

There wasn't a lot of oxygen left to fuel Marcus' brain, and he was beginning to hallucinate. The fanciful lyrics filled his head with images of bluebirds and fluffy clouds, colorfully feathered dreams that flew through star-strewn skies with rainbow spattered wings. As she sang, Nyssa imagined herself as a bird, flying far away from this fortress of nightmares and pain. Her only dream in this moment was to be free of this awful place.

_If happy little bluebirds fly_

_Beyond the rainbow_

_Why, oh why, can't I?_

As the last note rang out, then faded, Marcus' lungs gave out, rattling out one last gasp of inspiration, then expiring, falling silent. His presence rose, hovering over her for a long moment. Nyssa caught a flash of regret, an image of his family.

"I will tell them you fought hard, and died bravely," she whispered into the still room, and felt a grateful caress on her cheek. Then his energy vanished, leaving her alone with a corpse lying on her hands and memories of pain ghosting through her body and mind.

… _wake up where the clouds are far behind me…._

She wished that she were Dorothy and could send herself home with a click of her heels, but she'd lost her shoes, and there seemed to be no good witches within miles of this place. The apparatus that they had attached to her head was still humming, buzzing, and she could feel its subtle but constant pull on her thoughts.

… _where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops…_

Sitting up a little straighter, she suddenly was struck by an idea. Maybe she wasn't Dorothy, but perhaps she could be the Wizard. She explored with a tendril of consciousness along the persistent tug that had dragged away so many of her thoughts. She was swallowed by the sudden sensation of being caught up in a current, pulled along by a force impossible to resist, faster than thought.

Then it stopped. She was suspended in a place with no physical form, no pain, no sensation, only pure energy and information. With no actual body, she could move as swiftly as thought, chasing ideas with abandon, a brainwave with no physical brain. Around her, data swirled, organizing and reorganizing, weaving into her senses, expanding her self to include the new information. Here, she was free and unfettered. Here, she could explore with impunity. She felt boundless. The heavy emotions that had been weighing on her had been stripped away, left behind in her body along with the physical pain of all she had been through. Now she just had to figure out exactly how far she could go in this new configuration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics credits: Knocking on Heaven's Door - B. Dylan, Somewhere Over the Rainbow - Y. Harburg


	31. Wherever I May Roam

Tony Stark was a fan of music, particularly '80s rock. The music that had been popular at the height of his tumultuous youth had become the soundtrack to his life. If anyone had accused him of trying to hang onto those days and make his past seem better than it had been, he might not deny it, but he would certainly change the subject. Most of the songs came with positive associations, or at least a dashing and fashionable image in his head, and there were very few from the era he couldn't stand.

Except for one. Thanks to his parents insisting that he live in the dormitories at least his first couple years at MIT even at the tender age of 15 and a roommate that used the song as his alarm clock every single morning at stupid o'clock, even when Tony had been out later than he probably should have been, he couldn't stand the sound of it. He'd made Jarvis scrub it from every music library he'd ever personalized.

So it was baffling to hear the sound of yelled words and unhinged laughter, coupled with staccato bass chords and followed by the very familiar guitar riff, coming from the sound system in his bedroom at 3 AM. His first, half-asleep instinct was to slap at the clock radio on the nightstand, only to remember that he wasn't still in college and he didn't own anything as basic as a clock radio. By the time he fumbled out of bed and put his robe on, the blasted song had reached the first verse.

_Crazy, but that's how it goes_  
_Millions of people living as foes_  
_Maybe it's not too late_  
_To learn how to love_  
_And forget how to hate_

"Friday, turn that damned garbage song off!" The music dropped dramatically in volume, but didn't stop completely.

"Sorry, Boss, but… that's not me." The Irish-accented AI sounded both apologetic and annoyed. Tony frowned at the wall.

"What do you mean, it's not you? Who the hell else would be controlling my house?" he spluttered.

"That would be me." A different voice filtered softly into his room. Tony blinked, trying to place the familiar cadence.

"Dr. Taylor?" he guessed, no less baffled despite his recognition. "Are you… in my house?"

"Yes… and no," came the reply, still over his speakers. He turned the light on, expecting to see her in the doorway or perched on the dresser, but no one was there.

"Well, that's clear as mud," he muttered to himself.

"She's in here with me, Boss, and she's right pushy, too." Friday sounded about as exasperated as he'd ever heard her.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that." Nyssa's voice was repentant. "I'm still getting used to this whole digital stream of consciousness business, so I'm a little clumsy."

"What are you…." Tony was more awake now, and his processing speed was improving. "Doctor, you're in my computer? Since when can you do that?"

"Since someone decided to give the telepath wifi." Despite the glib statement, she did not sound amused. "I promise, this isn't a hostile takeover."

"So, wait. You're telling me you are here via a functional cerebral-cybernetic interface?" He asked for clarity's sake, his mind spinning with the possibilities.

"Cerebral-cybernetic interface, via a Linux based system, and I had to hop three satellites to get here, but honestly, I wouldn't recommend it. Tony… I need your help." He was already in his closet, finding clothes that were easy to get into and wouldn't chafe inside his suit.

"Okay, on my way. Where are you?"

"That's what I need your help with." He stopped short.

"You don't know where you are?"

"I'm still getting the hang of this whole setup. I haven't figured out how to access the global positioning systems. I assume I'm far away given how many satellites it took to get here, but honestly when traveling by digital highway everything Stark is a big neon sign. Can you determine where my signal originates?" Tony raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Child's play. Friday?"

"Just a minute." There was a long pause as the AI ran her calculations. "I'm getting 67°36'05" North by 15°17'32" East," she declared. Tony frowned.

"Norway? What the hell are you doing in Norway?"

"It's a long story."

"I can be there in…. six hours. Have you back in time for dinner."

"What about the Accords?" Tony paused at her question. Even after a year and a half, he still wasn't used to having to ask permission before he did anything. Not just ask, but file forms in triplicate and present them to the committee… it wasn't that he didn't still believe in his decision, but damn was bureaucracy and red tape infuriating.

"If we do this by the book, it will take some time. Otherwise, I can fly out there right now. What kind of trouble are you in?"

"The kind that makes for international incidents. I'm not the only one being held here. I'll leave some files for you to make your case to the committee, but… Tony, I need to ask one more favor." There was something in her voice that made him realize this was more serious than he had first estimated.

"What do you need?"

"Call Steve. Tell him where I am. They're closer, they're not bound by the Accords, they can get here faster, and I'm honestly not sure how much longer I can hold on. But I need to go back. Traveling this far away from my body… I'm not sure what effect it will have if I stay away too long."

"Wait, Dr. Taylor… he doesn't know where you are, either?" There was no reply. Tony exhaled loudly, mulling over the bizarre exchange.

"She's gone, Boss, but…. you're going to want to look at this." Friday's voice reminded him that Dr. Taylor had mentioned sending him some files. He nodded shortly, deciding he most likely wasn't going to be getting back to sleep tonight.

"Show me."

* * *

Steve knocked on the door to Bucky's room, but there was no answer. With a frown, he tried the door and found it wasn't locked. Concerned, he let himself in. The bed was still made, the sheets stretched military tight and crisp. The painting he had given his friend was picture-side down on the nightstand. The room was silent, and there was no sign that Bucky had been there. He was ready to sound the alarm and gather a search party, but in the name of being thorough, checked out on the balcony.

Bucky was tucked into a far corner, not visible until he stepped out onto the terrace, seated on the stone floor and half-hunched over, staring off into space. He didn't move or acknowledge Steve's presence. The old Bucky in Brooklyn didn't often descend into silent, brooding contemplation, but on the rare occasions he did, Steve would find him on the fire escape, sitting just like this, looking out over the city. Seventy years later and half a world away, some things could still be relied on. Instead of trying to talk to him or jostle him out of it, Steve silently sat down beside his friend and gazed out over the Wakandan metropolis with him. The wordless moment stretched into long minutes, punctuated only by the soft whisper of the wind and cries of tropical birds.

"Found a song that reminds me of you." Bucky's voice broke the stillness, and Steve started, not expecting the noise. He looked over at his oldest friend, who was holding one of the earbuds from his music player out to him. With a quizzical frown, Steve took it and tucked it into his ear.

_...and my ties are severed clean_  
_The less I have the more I gain_  
_Off the beaten path I reign_

_Rover, wanderer_  
_Nomad, vagabond_  
_Call me what you will_

_But I'll take my time anywhere_  
_I'm free to speak my mind anywhere_  
_And I'll never mind anywhere_

_Anywhere I roam_  
_Where I lay my head is home_

The heavy guitar riffs were surprising to Steve, as the music was dramatically different than the tunes he remembered Bucky being partial to when they were growing up. He couldn't imagine how you would dance to it. But a lot could change in seventy years. He half-smiled at this contradiction to his earlier thoughts. If nothing else, the lyrics were apropos of his current situation. Still, he couldn't pass up the chance to tease Bucky.

"You like that noise, huh?" he asked jokingly. "Funny, I remember you being more of a jazz guy." The corner of Bucky's mouth twitched upwards, but he still didn't look at Steve.

"It's angry," he said quietly. "Somehow, listening to it makes me… less angry."

"Huh. I'll have to ask Dr. Banner if he's ever tried that," Steve mused. Now Bucky did look at him, his expression quizzical. Before Steve could explain who Banner was, the phone in his pocket started ringing. He glanced at Bucky in surprise; it was the burner phone that was paired to the one he'd sent Tony after they had their falling out. He was in the habit of always carrying it, but it had rung only once before - when Tony had called him to come and meet Nyssa. He nearly dropped it in his haste to answer. "Hello, Tony."

"Rogers, remind me in the future never to lend you anything. Not a lawnmower, not a shovel, not even a damn cup of sugar."

"Tony, what?" Steve was thoroughly confused by this tirade, but Tony was not to be deterred.

"How could you lose her? She hasn't even been there two months, and she's already in trouble. A possible international incident, even. But I can't get out there right away. My hands are tied. Look, I'm sending you coordinates. You'll have to take it from there. But as soon as the committee approves it, I'll be heading that way, so you might want to make yourself scarce by then. Is that clear?"

"Wait, who? Have you heard from Dr. Taylor?" Steve demanded, but the call had already ended. Bucky sat up straighter, looking at the blond man sharply. Steve frowned down at the phone. "No, it couldn't be. How? But who else?" he muttered, mostly to himself. The phone chirruped, and he flipped it open again to see coordinates displayed on the text screen. His eyes widened, and he looked over at Bucky. "We have a location." Bucky was already on his feet.

"Then let's go."

* * *

It did not take long for the others to assemble. Steve walked out of the plane after dropping off his gear to find Sam and Clint in a very involved discussion.

"What's going on, guys? Why aren't you loading in?" he asked. Both men glanced at each other.

"We're just not sure this is the right… vehicle to take," Sam admitted. Steve frowned.

"Why?"

"For one thing, it's a plane. You need a clear place to land it," Clint pointed out.

"I know how a plane works, Clint," Steve replied.

"Good, but have you looked at the coordinates Tony sent you?" Clint returned. "It's all mountains. I have no idea how I'd land a plane anywhere near there."

"Not to mention," Sam put in, "the medical capabilities of this one are pretty basic, at least by Wakandan standards. We don't know what kind of shape she's going to be in when we find her. I'd rather be prepared." Steve wrinkled his brow and looked from one man to the other.

"So you guys don't want to take this one. Did you have a different aircraft in mind?" he asked. In unison, they pointed across the hangar to an airship that dwarfed the Quinjet. Steve looked from the craft to his teammates and back, then shook his head with a sigh.

"Why are we all just standing here?" Bucky asked as he came up to the group.

"Change in plans, Buck," Steve said. Before he could explain, a commotion at the entrance to the hangar drew their attention. The guards seemed to be struggling with someone. They caught a glimpse of a pale face and dark hair.

"Dad, wait, wait! Don't go!" Cooper yelled across the hangar. Clint frowned and turned around.

"Cooper? What's up?" he called back, and jogged across the distance separating them.

"It's Mom," Cooper said breathlessly. "She needs you. She says… it's time." Clint looked from his son to his teammates, dismay and conflict clear on his face.

"Um, I… I can't…" he stammered, then stopped, clearly torn between being needed in two different places at once. Steve hesitated, glancing at Bucky.

"She would choose family," Bucky said, quietly but with certainty. Steve nodded.

"Go ahead, Clint. We can manage without you this time," he affirmed. Clint's expression became slightly relieved, but he still hesitated.

"You sure?" he asked, looking around at the rest of the team. Slowly, each of them nodded. Clint huffed a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. Guess I gotta go be a dad and a husband, then." Cooper grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards the door. "Good luck, guys!" He called over his shoulder. "Bring her back safe!"

"Hey, congratulations! Good luck to you, too!" Sam called after him. He tuned back to the others, a small smile still on his face.

"So…" Bucky prompted, looking at Steve. "Change in plans?"

"Right," Steve said, picking back up on his previous train of thought. "I agree, that one is better suited for this mission." He gestured to the large airship in the place of honor in the hangar. "But I'm not convinced that it isn't too much plane for the five of us. And there's also the matter of not having permission…."

"Perhaps we can help with that." They all turned to see six Dora Milaje walking towards them – Sam's trainees, with Nobomi and Fezeka in the lead. Nobomi gestured towards the craft. "This is the King's Royal Transport,  _Mkhulu_. Traditionally, it can only be crewed by the Dora Milaje, as we are his royal guard."

"You don't think he would mind us taking it?" Steve asked dubiously.

"Not at all," declared a familiar, masculine voice. Nobomi and Fezeka stepped aside, and T'Challa strode to the forefront of the Dora Milaje. "I have not used it since my father's death. If it can help to save Dr. Taylor…." He shrugged. "At least then it will be put to good use, rather than collecting dust among bittersweet memories." He gestured to the women, and they quickly changed formation and vanished onto the royal airship. "You will find them a reliable crew. Go swiftly, find what you seek, bring her back safe."

"You're not worried about starting a war?" Steve inquired. T'Challa smiled.

"An Italian noble has set up a secret base in a Norwegian mountain range. I do not think it is Wakanda that should fear the repercussions once it is discovered."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics credit: Crazy Train: O. Osbourne, R. Rhoads, B. Daisley
> 
> Wherever I May Roam: J. Hetfield, L. Ulrich


	32. Accusations

The second call of the morning Tony made was to Secretary Ross, who of late had seemed perpetually exasperated, or at least whenever Tony had tried to contact him.

"I have an urgent matter to present to the committee," he began, trying to get as much out as he could before…

"Hold, please," Ross replied coolly, and the line was suddenly filled with an irritating pan flute rendition of "Greensleeves." Tony sighed and sat back in his chair, rolling his eyes at Ross' petty revenge. 

"Friday, let me know when he picks back up." He busied himself with the computer, troubleshooting a few bugs in the program of the Mark 937, the latest in a long line of innovations. He'd been having Friday run doomsday scenarios, then trying to come up with additions to the suits that would compensate for the various disasters. He'd gotten quite creative, but still was certain there were unknown situations that could still occur. The trick was, he was trying to anticipate the unanticipated and expect the unexpected, foresee the unforeseeable. Therefore, every time he came up with a new scenario, it became anticipated, expected – and he was back to the drawing board again.

On his other monitor, he was still sifting through the data Dr. Taylor had left behind. There were medical records, case notes, security footage and AV files. It was a little like putting together a jigsaw puzzle when you weren't quite sure what the end picture was supposed to be, how many pieces might be missing, or even what shape it would take. It was his favorite kind of puzzle. He turned in his chair and stared at the screen for a moment, then decided he was tired of working in two dimensions.

"Friday, let's stack the deck. I want everything sorted chronologically and geographically. We'll see if she gave us enough to make a timeline." He swiveled his chair around, then stood and paced to the middle of the room as images swirled around him, lining up in neat rows and odd groupings. Tony frowned as he considered the information, rubbing a thoughtful finger along his jaw, his eyes flickering through the different screens reflectively. He frowned, took a step closer and zoomed in on a couple sets. He scanned through the data, his eyes slowly widening in surprise and horror.

"Add in everything we have on Hydra, cross-referencing for chronology, location and any identifiers you can find. Names, birthdates, serial numbers, the usual," he instructed his digital assistant. Pages of information swirled around him, some of them swept away into nothingness as Friday categorized them as irrelevant, others flocking to the timeline he had already set up, settling down in line like broody hens in their assigned places. Tony scanned through them, pulling a few up for closer inspection, discarding others with a careless flick of his wrist.

"Mr. Stark, I've got Secretary Ross on the line." Friday's Irish lilt interrupted his train of thought.

"Overhead," Tony commanded, still looking from one screen to another, eyes round.

"Okay, Tony, what is so urgent?" Ross sounded less annoyed and more smug this morning, possibly because he had just kept Tony Stark on hold for a full fifteen minutes.

"I need you to call an emergency meeting of the Accords committee," Tony said, for once getting straight to the point.

"Sure. I think we can get one scheduled for next Tuesday," Ross replied.

"Did they vote to change the definition of emergency?" Tony asked tersely. It was his turn to be annoyed. "I need them today. Preferably before noon."

"You've filled out all the mandatory requisition forms and preliminary reports?" Ross prompted. "You don't want to create another incident by not filing the proper paperwork, like in Brooklyn." Tony suppressed an urge to tell Ross exactly what he could do with the mandatory requisition forms, and where he could file them.

"Don't worry, you'll have your paperwork," Tony assured him, still staring at the images projected around the room. "I'll even bring visual aids this time."

* * *

The conference room seemed overly warm, or maybe it was just Tony. He stood at the head of the table with his arms folded over his expensive Italian suit, and watched everyone file into the room. They sauntered in, unhurried, and Tony took a deep breath, making scathing remarks in his head about how nobody had a sense of urgency anymore. If this was how they reacted when he said he had an emergency, what was going to happen when there was a real crisis?

"I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here today," he started, then paused with a smirk, enjoying the other half of that joke without saying it aloud. He tapped the 3D projector he had placed on the table, cueing up the images that were going to help him tell the story. "I have gotten information from a very reliable source of illegal human experimentation. The roots of it goes back several decades. As we know, Hydra was fond of using unorthodox methods of experimentation to try and find ways to enhance their soldiers. The Super Soldier serum created by my father, which they both stole and also tried to replicate, is one example of this, but it was far from their only research. They also had several branches trying different methods, but with the same goal in mind. Some combined various types of animal DNA with the human genome. Some treated test subjects with drugs designed to modify their body structure, or their genetic makeup. Some exposed their subjects to different kinds of radiation, or even electricity." He paused and cued up several video clips illustrating the inhumane testing that occurred on the once-human subjects. Whispers and murmurs were starting up around the fringes of the room, along with horrified looks and mouths covered in shock.

"After World War II, these scientists didn't stop, they merely went underground. Many of the experiments were labeled failures, but they still kept trying." He paused for effect, glancing at the grotesque images in the video, and briefly turned the volume up so they could hear the screaming. After about ten seconds, he couldn't stand to hear anymore, so muted it again. Several of the committee members had gone white. "After the Battle at the Triskelion, most of Hydra's secrets were exposed, including much of their ongoing research. Many of the projects were halted, and their subjects… terminated." His projector pulled up dozens of profiles – pictures with names, abilities, birthdates, nationalities, death dates; all stamped "Terminated." The murmurs in the room were growing louder as the representatives from different countries noticed that fellow citizens had fallen victim to the diabolical organization. "Others were, ah, liquidated. Sold off to the highest bidder, and the research continued." He let his presentation play through, continuing to highlight the cruel techniques used, as he strolled slowly around the table.

"The Avengers are requesting approval from the committee to target a facility who has several of Hydra's old experiments. They were purchased right after the Triskelion incident, for the purposes of conducting a different kind of research. Their experiments appear to hinge on this little girl." He pulled another profile up, and there were gasps all around as they realized the face surrounded by golden curls couldn't be more than nine years old. "The aim appears to be attempts to transfer the abilities of other Enhanced humans to her. The information I have also indicates that they have recently begun adding new subjects, and are actively pursuing more. I don't know what their end goal is, but I was able to determine who is footing the bill." He smiled thinly, glancing over to where Italy's representative was sitting at the table. "It's a Maggia operation." The Italian councilmember stood, swishing his cape behind him indignantly.

"I resent that accusation, Mr. Stark," Count Nefaria said crisply. Tony raised his eyebrows at him, the corner of his mouth curving up at the fact that the man had walked right into his trap.

"Was I accusing you of something, Count?" he asked lightly. "Or are you admitting to involvement with the Maggia?" Nefaria suddenly seemed to realize his error, and glanced around the room to gauge how many might be on his side before backtracking.

"One might say that the look you gave me was an accusation. I am tired of my family name being sullied by ignorant, baseless allegations that we are somehow aligned with a criminal organization," he retorted. Tony raised an eyebrow at him.

"A look? Are we back in high school again?" he said mockingly. "Shall I have my assistant send out a memo that nobody is to look at you, Count Nefaria?"

"So you deny it, then? You deny that you made any accusations that I am affiliated with that criminal organization?" Nefaria sputtered. Tony nodded eagerly.

"I categorically deny that the look I gave you was an accusation," he replied. "This, however…" He pulled up a new video, similar to the others that had been playing on loop. A test subject was chained to the wall, being roughly treated by the guards. An aristocratic figure stepped into the background, watching. Tony paused the video and zoomed in on the image. "That looks a lot like you, doesn't it?" He grinned at the stunned silence in the hall, and watched as all color drained from Nefaria's face. He strolled a few steps closer to the Italian nobleman, his hands clasped behind his back. "Just so we're clear, that was an accusation."

The room exploded in commotion as the others reacted to this revelation. Nefaria launched himself at Tony, eyes blazing in fury. Tony braced himself, preparing to summon his suit and do battle, but Nefaria only slapped him across the face with an embroidered silk glove.

"Mr. Stark, you have insulted my honor. I challenge you to a duel," Count Nefaria spat at him. Tony gave him an amused look.

"Oh, so this isn't high school. It's the 19th century. My mistake." He glanced over towards the doorway, where Pepper and Lucky were standing with a group of official-looking men waiting with a warrant. "As appealing as that offer is, Count, I must decline. See, in this century, when someone has done something wildly offensive, or rather, criminal, they are arrested." Nefaria suddenly found himself surrounded by the officials. "These men have quite a few questions for you," Tony continued, then took a few steps back and raised his voice. "And I'm sure Councilman Isaksen in particular will be interested in the reason why you're bankrolling a secret base in the mountains of Norway." The Norwegian dignitary suddenly joined the group, glaring daggers at Count Nefaria. Tony watched them take the man away with a smug smile on his face.

"I see it was a production you were after," came an exasperated voice from behind Tony, whose smile faded ever so slightly as he turned to face Secretary Ross.

"No, I still want that permit," he declared. "This was just the icing on the cake." Ross smiled back at him humorlessly and held out a stack of paperwork.

"You have a conditional permit. Assemble your team. Detain as many of the enemy as you can, though we understand a certain number of casualties are to be expected. Make sure that the test subjects are properly destroyed." The last traces of mirth fled from Tony's face, and he gritted his teeth and took the papers from Ross.

"Destroyed?" he repeated. Ross nodded.

"We have enough of a problem here at home with the Enhanced. We don't need to be adding to it," the old politician replied. "You'll only be putting them out of their misery anyway."

"Even… the American citizens?" Tony queried in disbelief. Ross scoffed.

"You can rescue them as long as they aren't Enhanced. If they are, and they can prove their loyalty, and they aren't too powerful…" Ross shrugged. "That I will leave up to your discretion," he decided. "Just don't bring any more problems home with you."


	33. Nessun Luogo

"We are coming up on your coordinates," Cebisa called over her shoulder. Both Steve and Bucky moved forward, peering through the cockpit windows. As  _Mkhulu_  descended, they scanned the mountain range that appeared once they emerged from the cloud cover.

"I don't see anything," Bucky grumbled.

"It is very well hidden to the naked eye," Cebisa agreed. "But one cannot maintain a secret base without power." She tapped on the command pad next to the flight controls, and the heat signatures overlay the mountains below. The tallest peak lit up brightly before their eyes.

"That's it," Bucky said with certainty.

"Where's the entrance?" Steve asked, his eyes scanning the mountain before them. "I don't see it."

"That, I have not determined yet," Cebisa admitted. A musical trill played from the console next to her, and she glanced at it in surprise. "Someone wants to talk to us."

"Who is it?" Steve asked suspiciously. Cebisa glanced at him, her expression both amused and tolerant.

"If you like, I can answer it, and we will find out," she replied. Steve gave permission with a wave of his hand, and she opened the connection.

"You guys have no idea how happy I am that you're here," came a voice over the speakers. It was distorted and faint at first, but then grew stronger, clearer, and undoubtedly Nyssa.

"I might have some idea," Bucky retorted as relief flooded through him.

"How do we get in?" Steve asked, sticking to practicalities, although there was relief on his face, too.

"There's just one entrance, on the northwest side. The door is manual release, and can be opened only from the inside." She sounded almost apologetic.

"Can you open it for us?" Sam asked as he ducked through the doorway. There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"I'm afraid not," she finally said. Sam opened his mouth to ask why, but caught a glimpse of Bucky's face as he chewed over those implications and decided to wait and find out.

"Sam, why don't you take Scott and see if you can get us in," Steve suggested. Sam nodded and turned to go find Scott.

* * *

The wind outside was strong and cool, but not overly chilly. Sam circled around to the northwest side of the mountain, but the entrance was not immediately obvious. Even with narrowing the options down to a side, it was still a big mountain. His first three passes came up short, and he landed on a rocky outcropping to regroup and get his bearings. His gaze fell on a raven building a nest only a couple meters away.

"I don't suppose you know where the door is?" he asked the bird, joking out of frustration. The raven stopped what it was doing and regarded him with a beady black eye.

"This way," it said, and took off.

"No, I don't know. How would I know?" Tiny Scott replied from his perch atop Sam's flying harness. Ignoring him, Sam took off, following the black wings above him in the sky. The raven soared up the side of the mountain, finally alighting on some rocks. Sam was ready to dismiss the whole thing as wishful thinking and an overactive imagination on his part, when he noticed a vertical crack in the rock face. It was entirely too straight and uniform to be natural, and as his eyes followed it, it turned ninety degrees and made a corner. It blended into the rock face so well, he probably never would have spotted it on his own. He glanced down at the raven, still perched on a rock to the right of the door, watching him attentively.

"Thanks," he said, internally mocking himself for having a conversation with a bird. The raven blinked at him.

"Don't mention it," the bird squawked.

"Believe me, I won't," Sam replied, and watched as the corvid flew away.

"Who are you talking to?" Scott asked. "Is my comm malfunctioning?" He tapped the side of his helmet.

"Must be," Sam replied blandly. "But I wouldn't worry too much about it." He rested his hand on the crack of the door, balancing on the rough rocks surrounding the entrance. "Here's your stop." He watched the tiny figure jog down his arm and squeeze into the crack in the rocks. Pushing back from the side of the mountain, he sailed on the currents wrapping around the mountain, gliding back and forth. "Guys, we're almost in. You should head in this direction," he called over the comm.

"Well, I heard that. Must not be glitching anymore," Scott responded, half to himself.

"We're on our way," Steve replied. A dark shadow filled Sam's peripheral vision as the airship glided closer, then hovered a few meters away. The door swung open, and Ant-Man stood there, full-size and gesturing for everyone to come in.

* * *

Steve and Bucky probably could have made the jump, but they utilized the resources they had and let the Dora Milaje fly them across. Steve went first, holding his shield in front of his body to block any unforeseen attack. Bucky followed close behind, assault rifle at the ready. Wanda flew across by herself, closing the door behind them with a wave of her hand. They all glanced around the hallway in confusion, as they had been expecting a great deal more resistance once they arrived. A little further down the hallway, a figure was slumped on the floor. Sam knelt down and checked the thug.

"He's still alive, just unconscious," he informed the rest of the team.

"I activated some of the built-in defensive systems," Nyssa's voice came from overhead. "Flooded most of the place with Halothane. Vented it as soon as you guys got close, so some of them might be waking up soon. Not all of them, unfortunately. Some reacted poorly to the gas. But my other option was arsenic pentafluoride, and that would have had a 100% fatality rate."

"Well, that explains the lack of a welcoming party," Steve commented. "So where are you?"

"More important things first," Nyssa countered. A computer screen to Steve's left suddenly turned on, and he found himself looking at a map of the base. A path on the map lit up, going down two levels before ending in an X. "There are two groups of captives being held here. I rerouted the ventilation system before I used the Halothane, so they should be unaffected. But I can't get that part of the system back online, so they might be running out of air soon. They have about 15 minutes left by my calculations. It's mostly women and children, families." Steve frowned.

"Why would they be holding families here?" he asked.

"Leverage," Nyssa answered, at the same time that Bucky muttered the word under his breath. "When someone can't be bought, they ensure his loyalty in other ways. The other group is located here. They also should be unaffected by the gas." Steve watched the screen and she showed him another route, this time down to the level below. "There are four of them. They have been used for testing and experiments, and may not be too trusting to start with." Pictures began flashing on the screen as she debriefed them on what to expect. "Matthew Warner, age 37, nicknamed Mutt. Originally from Berlin. Hydra experimented on him with canine DNA that is linked to specific biological processes in the body. He mastered these, and now can transform into a dog at will. After Hydra created his mutation, he was to be culled for not being large and fierce enough. Someone sold him to the Maggia instead, along with one other from the test group at that same facility. Born Freida Baumgartner, she was 25 when she was first captured a decade ago. They used gene splicing to combine her DNA with that  _of Phelsuma Laticauda._  As a result, she has scaly skin, reptilian features, the ability to climb nearly any surface, regenerative abilities, and a tail, among other things. She also has difficulty with temperature regulation, as she depends on her environment to help keep her warm enough to function."

"So, she's a lizard woman?" Scott summed up, trying to be helpful.

"She goes by the name Felsma now," Nyssa continued as if she hadn't heard him. "She was rejected for not appearing human enough for Hydra's purposes. She and Mutt seem to have a bond, so to get either of them to come with you, you'll need to get both." The pictures on the screen changed to a young man with shock-white hair. "The third prisoner is Subject 359. The experiments on him began in utero; he is a second-generation guinea pig, and was never given a name. No, Scott, he's not literally a guinea pig." Scott rolled his eyes as she preemptively answered his question.

"Well, sure. I mean, we have a were-dog-man and a lizard woman, but a guinea pig boy would just be ridiculous," he commented sarcastically.

Nyssa paused a moment, her amusement palpable, before she continued. "He was subjected to a number of procedures, and now is able to control and manipulate electricity, even generating electromagnetic impulses. They deemed him too dangerous, and so for the last several years have focused more on containment."

"What kind of life has he had?" Wanda murmured aloud in horror.

"A short one," Nyssa replied. "He's sixteen. He may pose the largest threat, but I believe he is worth the effort to save."

"So young!" Wanda exclaimed.

"Not as young as the last captive," Nyssa continued grimly, showing them a picture of a little girl with a head full of golden curls. Gabriele Sturdy, age eight. She has apparently been the focus of the experiments here, as they have been attempting to transfer all the others' abilities to her. It appears they have been successful, but she is only phase one of their plan."

"What's phase two?" Steve asked. The screen in front of him went blank.

"Once Sturdy perfects the technique, he intends to use it to transfer powers to Count Nefaria, who seeks to become ever more powerful," Nyssa concluded.

"Oh, great. More supervillains," Scott groaned.

"Not if we can prevent it," Steve said grimly, and turned to face the others. "Sam, you're with me. We'll get the families safe aboard  _Mkhulu._ Wanda, you and Scott gather the other captives. Buck…" He nodded at his friend. "Go get Nyssa." Bucky nodded. The others quickly filed down the hallway, leaving him behind. He glanced at the blank computer screen.

"So, where are you?" he asked. "Command center?"

"Not exactly," came her voice from overhead. "This way." He glanced around, and saw lights at the end of the hallway growing brighter, then dimming. He walked towards it and glanced down the adjoining corridor to see more flashing lights to his left. He followed them, walking cautiously with his weapon at ready, stepping over still bodies on the floor, automatically taking mental note of the number of unconscious men he passed on his way. Down stairs and through claustrophobia-inducing passageways, he followed the lights she beckoned him with, until he stepped through the doorway into a larger room.

He tensed, hackles raised as he recognized the smell and feel of the chamber. He knew what this space was for; had been in similar places himself. Sometimes he had been the victim. Sometimes, later, he had been the one wielding the tools. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath to steady himself. There was a table at the center of the room with the tattered, bloody form of what had once been a man, stretched out and strapped down, and a still, silent figure slumped over at his head. His pulse quickened, breath caught in his throat as he moved closer. Nyssa was still dressed in the black dress she had been wearing the last time he saw her, her hair falling forward and concealing her face. He touched her shoulder, but she didn't stir, and her skin was like ice.

"What the hell?" he muttered to himself, his murmur loud in the stillness of the room. His fingers traveled up her neck, found a pulse, and he breathed a sigh of relief, but was no less confused. "Not dead."

"No," Nyssa's voice echoed overhead, startling him. "Not dead. Just… unoccupied, at the moment." Bucky raised his eyebrows.

"What about him?" he asked, gesturing with his rifle to the other body in the room.

"Deceased." Nyssa's voice was softer now. "Not my handiwork. I just couldn't stop them. We should bring the body with us. His family… his wife… deserves that much."

"I'm here for you," Bucky reminded her. "I'll come back after you're safe." He knelt down by her still form, taking stock of the chains and collar, the heavy iron restraints that held her in place. "If you're… unoccupied, how do we fix that?"

"I'm… not sure," she admitted. "I've been trying to get back in, but it keeps pushing me away. Can you take a look at the hardware they have on my head? Does it have something that looks like an off switch or power button somewhere?" He wasn't certain what she was talking about, but he gingerly moved her head and brushed her hair back. "Be careful," she warned. "It's hardwired directly into my brain." Irregular metal components ran along her hairline, adorning her head like an infernal halo. White lights glowed along the edges, with occasional flashes of green or blue.

"What the hell have they done to you?" he asked in horror, and for once Nyssa didn't have an answer. He inspected the device carefully, looking for anything that looked like a moving part, and found a switch at the back of it, behind her left ear. Half the lights winked out, and some of the green indicators turned to red. He waited, his heart in his throat. Nyssa's body straightened up abruptly, pulling hard against the metal that bound her as she gasped for breath. Her face contorted in agony, and exhaled a brief scream as she was again plunged into physicality and pain. He wrapped his arms around her as she writhed, then went limp, sagging against him.

"Now… the collar… and this damned bar…" she croaked, her voice faint. "Should be… key somewhere." Standing up, Bucky gripped the metal bar holding her hands down with his new vibranium hand and tore it off the table. "Or, that also works." He knelt down by her again and gripped the collar encircling her neck with both hands. With a wordless sound of exertion, he pulled, and the circle came apart in his hands, sending a brief electric shock through him. Dropping the broken remnants on the floor, he reached for Nyssa, pulling her closer, his eyes taking in the red, angry burned ring around her neck and the cruel marks on her wrists. With a sigh, she flung one arm around him, the other hand drifting up to caress his face, fingers tracing along his cheek and jaw.

"You're alive," she whispered, the relief in her voice an echo of his. "You're okay." With a disbelieving chuckle at her concern for him, he held her close, then leaned back slightly to carefully cup her head and cover her mouth with his. Her cold lips warmed under his, and she melted into the kiss, clinging to him for the space of several heartbeats. After it ended, he suddenly recalled that he was part of a group, and should check in. They had discussed names to use when using the comm system, to make sure anyone listening in didn't immediately connect it to them.

"Nomad, this is Tin Man. I've got Patchwork Doll," he called over the radio. Nyssa chuckled softly.

"Good work, Tin Man. We'll meet you both back on board," came Steve's reply.

"Patchwork Doll?" she repeated. "That's what you decided on for my code name?" Bucky shrugged.

"Steve wanted to go with New York Angel, but I talked him out of it," he informed her. "We should get going."

"Agreed," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's just one thing I have to do first." With effort, keeping one hand on him to steady herself, she stood. Her first few steps were stiff and unstable, but seemed to grow in confidence as she headed for the doorway. Bucky followed, again feeling slightly bewildered.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"They stole all my secrets," she said cryptically. "Not just mine, but the ones given to me in confidence. They belong to friends, clients, associates, lovers… I can't let them keep them." They had only gotten a few meters down the corridor when Nyssa paused. "Get ready," she whispered to Bucky. "They're starting to wake up."

* * *

Wanda grinned to herself as she heard Steve and Bucky over her earpiece, relieved to know that Nyssa was safe. The door in front of her was held closed with a simply locking mechanism. Most likely, there as a key somewhere nearby, but she didn't bother looking for one. Touching the door, she moved the tumbler inside with her mind, and it swung open. Inside the cell, a dark brown brindled dog lay curled up in the corner, tethered to the wall by a chain that linked to his heavy collar. He looked up as Wanda and Scott stepped into the stonewalled room, his gaze watchful and wary. Wanda grasped the chain that held him and disintegrated it with a thought.

"Mutt, isn't it?" she said by way of introduction. "My name is Wanda, and this is Scott. We are here to rescue you." Mutt looked at her with wide eyes, transforming back into a man, and got to his feet.

"Tried that already," he said in heavily accented English. "Did not work so well."

"We have transport waiting," Wanda informed him. "The guards are incapacitated."

"We'll even get you some clothes," Scott promised, trying not to look anywhere below the other man's waist. Mutt looked hopeful.

"You will take… all of us?" he asked tentatively. Wanda nodded reassuringly.

"Yes, but we need to go now," she said. He nodded and shifted back into canine form, leading the way to the next door. Wanda opened it and blinked at the reptilian woman inside, huddled in the cold and dark. Mutt ran inside, whining as he nudged the woman with his nose. Slowly, she got to her feet, moving as if it took great effort.

"Felsma?" Wanda asked, and the woman nodded. "Come with us. We are taking you to freedom." The woman stared at her with ever-wide eyes, expression difficult to read on her not-quite-human features.

"Freedom?" she repeated softly. Mutt raced in a circle around her legs, tail wagging. Wanda nodded, extending her hand to Felsma, who followed. The next cell held the boy who controlled electricity. Wanda paled slightly as she took in the white straightjacket that he was bound with, feeling her anger rise.

"Let's get that off of you," she said tersely. He stared at her questioningly, looking from her to Scott and back again. "My name is Wanda, this is Scott, and we are here to help you." She gestured, and the garment restraining him began to unwind itself from his body. He gaped at her as she removed it completely without laying a finger on him. Standing defiantly, he seemed to tense, and Wanda surrounded him with a sphere of containment just as he let off an electromagnetic pulse strong enough to take out all the systems in the base, and possibly their aircraft still hovering nearby. His eyes widened as he gaped at her within the force bubble. She waved a finger at him.

"There's no need for that," she said rebukingly. "I will make sure you have opportunity to practice, but right now, if you do that, we might not be able to get out of here. Do you want to spoil your chance at freedom?" Eyes still wide, he shook his head. "Good. Now, what is your name?" she asked.

"He doesn't have - " Scott began, but Wanda waved at him to be quiet.

"No name," the boy said. "Subject 359."

"What do you want your name to be?" Wanda asked softly. He shrugged.

"I'll have to think about it," he replied.

"Well, I'm gonna call you Hertz," Scott announced. Both Wanda and the boy looked at him in confusion. Scott shrugged. "Just a little electrical engineering joke." With a shrug, Hertz joined them in the hallway. Wanda went to open the last door, but Hertz stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't let her out. She was the one who got us caught last time," he said, glaring at the door as if he could see through it.

"She won't this time," Wanda said confidently. Opening the door, she strode into the room and over to the bed, where a head full of golden curls was just visible above the blankets. She touched the little girl gently on the head, and she sat up sleepily. "Gabriele, it's time to go," Wanda told her softly. The little girl raised her arms towards Wanda, who picked her up. The rest of the group watched in amazement as Gabriele's head nestled into Wanda's neck and she fell back to sleep. Ignoring their stares, Wanda carried the girl out and started back the way they had come.

* * *

Bucky hefted his weapon and clenched his metal fist, scanning the hallway ahead of them for any signs of the enemy. They turned a corner, and Nyssa stopped short, what little color was left in her face draining out of it.

"Where do you think you're going?" growled the man at the other end of the corridor, pointing a revolver at her. Bucky suddenly caught the image of this man wielding a knife over helpless others, an arrogant smile on his face. Whoever he was, Nyssa associated him with a lot of pain. Quickening his step, he snapped his rifle into his back holster and moved between the man and Nyssa, teeth bared in an expression only vaguely related to a smile. The man fired, and Bucky blocked the shots with his arm, then closed the distance between them and greeted him with a fist to the jaw, followed shortly by metal knuckles directly into his face. The blow was fueled by the past several days' worth of frustration and rage, and he felt facial bones fracture beneath his fist with a satisfying crunch. The man cried out, falling backwards as blood poured from his nose, his gun clattering to the floor. Bucky stepped closer, preparing to rain death down on him. He pulled his left arm back, feeling the new gears and servos aligning to add power to his next strike.

"Bucky, stop!" Nyssa shouted from behind him. He froze, clenched fist in the air, limbs refusing to budge after her command. He turned to look at her with a frown. She was staring in the direction of the man bleeding on the floor, though her gaze seemed to see beyond him. "He's mine," she grated through clenched teeth. Bucky's eyes widened slightly, and he stepped aside. Gripping his rifle, he trained it on the man on the floor and waited for him to make a mistake, while keeping an eye out for any new threats that might appear. Nyssa padded towards the man on bare feet, her hair streaming behind her and dress swishing around her legs. The lights on her crown flickered, and her eyes seemed to glow unnaturally.

"Luca," she purred with a smirk, "Not so tough, now that the tables have turned." He sneered at her as best he could with one eye already swelling shut.

"I'm surprised you didn't let your attack dog kill me," Luca spat at her. She smiled at him and shook her head.

"He's not my attack dog. He belongs to no one but himself." She could practically taste his fear, and she fed it, letting it grow in him until she towered in his vision. "But what use would it be for him to kill you, anyway, when you died oh so long ago? You've been dead inside ever since that day. And now, the only thing that makes you feel alive, is pain. Causing other people's pain." She was growing closer now, and he scrambled backwards, trying to get away from her, but found his escape blocked by a wall. "That changes today, Luca. After today, their pain will become your pain. Any hurts you inflict, you will feel as though they were your own. If you cut someone, you will feel it in your own flesh. And you will find that, all along, you've only been hurting yourself." She drew nearer to him, and Bucky tensed, as she was easily within striking distance. But the man seemed paralyzed by terror, and only shrank before the diminutive woman.

"I changed my mind," he whispered, gesturing towards Bucky. "Let him kill me." Nyssa's smile widened, and she crouched down next to him. He flinched as she raised her hand.

"I could," she conceded with a grin. "But… where would be the fun in that?" His recognition melted into despair, and he flung his arms up to shield his face. Shaking her head, she easily pushed away an arm and rested her hand on his head. He wailed and tried to roll away from her. After a moment, he stopped fighting and stared at her with wide eyes. She stood, head bowed as if watching him, then turned and sprinted down the corridor. His face crumpled, and he covered his face, his shoulders starting to shake. Bucky paused as he passed the weeping man, trying to decide if he was a threat or not. Luca looked up at him, tears streaming down his face.

" _Che cosa ho fatto_?" he whispered, his expression horrified.  _What have I done?_ Bucky was familiar with the sentiment, but couldn't find it in him to feel sorry for the man. Ahead of him, Nyssa was a lithe shadow in the dimly-lit corridor, and he had to jog to catch up.

He caught up with her as she was hovering over a bank of electronics in what he could only assume was the control room. Two men lay groaning on the floor. Bucky stepped over them to cross to where Nyssa stood.

"What did you do to them?" he asked, eyeing the men in morbid curiosity.

"He's trapped in a fantasy," she said, gesturing to the one on the left, then to the right. "That one's stuck in a nightmare. Neither one will bother us." Bucky looked from Nyssa to the moaning thugs and back again.

"And what about… that other guy? Luca? Did you really make it so… he'll feel whatever he does to others?" He'd seen evidence of her power in the last few days, but it was a little different to witness it firsthand. It was especially disconcerting considering that he had basically given her free rein over his own mind. If she had done something shady, would he even be able to tell?

"I merely gave him back some empathy, as he was in short supply," she demurred. "As for the rest… the most important thing is that he believes that it will happen." Bucky stared at her, wide-eyed, feeling almost in awe of her, as well as more than a little intimidated.

"You're… a little scary right now," he commented. She smiled and patted his arm, but didn't look at him.

"Oh, you're sweet," she replied. "Right now, I'm fucking terrifying." She rested her hand on the screen of the big console at the center of the room. "I've deleted the files I could find, but there's only one way to be sure." She turned her head in his direction. "How many explosives did you bring?" He frowned at her.

"Explosives?" he repeated. The answer was a baker's dozen. Nyssa raised her eyebrows, focusing on the console in front of her.

"We won't need all thirteen. Maybe six. Put them on the servers – those metal boxes over there, those are the brains. Give us a few minutes' delay." He set to work, but his gaze kept traveling back to her, standing beside the big console with her hands resting on it. To the casual observer, she appeared to just be taking a breather, but her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge, swaying slightly, and she looked like she was trying not to throw up.

"Okay, done. Time to go," he said, capturing her hand with his as he stalked by, focused on the way out. He barely glanced at the guards, still whimpering on the stone by the exit. Nyssa trotted alongside him, struggling to match his pace, but they needed to put as much distance between themselves and the detonation as possible. As it was, the ground shook beneath them when the bombs went off, knocking them off their feet. Bucky righted himself quickly and looked around for Nyssa. She had been thrown several meters down an adjoining corridor, and was slowly rising to her feet, hands against the wall and looking… quite disoriented. "Nyssa?"

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "My eyes… aren't working. Not since I woke up with this." She touched the metal crown encompassing her head with a shaky hand. "When I was connected to the computer, I had a map in my head I could follow, but now…" She gestured vaguely at the empty air around her. "…that's gone, too." Bucky's heart sank into his stomach. She was in even worse condition than he had initially thought. Striding forward, he scooped her up with his right arm, leaving his metal left free to serve as both defense and offense. She clung to him thankfully, and he was struck by how much lighter she was than he remembered. She tensed as they were about to round the corner.

"Here they come," she whispered in his ear. He prepared himself and led the turn with his assault rifle. His eyes widened as he took in the eighteen men swarming down the stairs in their direction. Firing some rapid fire covering shots, he ducked back down the corridor and set Nyssa down, then tore a nearby door off its hinges, propping it across the hallway for cover.

"Hey, Nomad," he called over the comm, firing short bursts of rapid-fire shots that took down the first few fighters as they cleared the corner. "You got everyone else loaded yet?"

"Just about, Tin Man. We ran into a little resistance. Where are you?" Steve answered.

"Took a little detour," Bucky grunted. "Trying to get to you now, but we could use some backup on the second level down." Steve replied, but he had a hard time hearing him as the sound of gunshots echoed in the metal halls around them.

_If you have one for me, I can help,_ Nyssa's voice suddenly sounded in his head. He glanced over at her sharply. She was huddled in a little ball behind where the door met the wall, but she had one hand extended expectantly. He frowned.

_You said you're blind,_ he thought back at her pointedly. An exasperated look flashed across her face.

_No, I said my eyes aren't working,_ she corrected him. Her hand covered his suddenly, her finger over his on the trigger. She moved the firearm slightly to the right and pulled the trigger, still staring off into space over Bucky's shoulder. Bucky glanced quickly over the edge of the door in time to see two men who had just edged out into view fall.  _I've never used my eyes to aim._ With wide eyes and a slight shake of his head, he grabbed a pistol out of his leg holster and handed it to her. She ran her hands over the weapon, familiarizing herself with its features before correctly adjusting her hands on the grip, her finger barely touching the trigger. Bucky had been prepared to coach her on how to hold it, how to use it, but clearly, she didn't need that. He turned his full attention back to the firefight. Nyssa shifted to her knees and aimed her weapon over the door, remaining completely behind cover while she felled one enemy after another. The onslaught of adversaries showed no sign of letting up, and for the first time since they arrived, Bucky had a sliver of doubt that they would all make it out alive.

* * *

The pile of unmoving bodies at the end of the hall was growing, large enough now to provide some cover for those still alive. Bucky was tempted to end the fight quickly with another explosive, but it was too close quarters here. The blast would be as likely to kill them as their opponents.

He sensed more than saw the round shape flying through the air. The sound of gunfire intensified, then ceased. Bucky peered along the barrel of his gun, still tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Steve strolled into view and casually picked his shield back up. Bucky let out his breath in a Russian oath and stood up.

"Dammit, St- Nomad, I nearly shot you," he said in exasperation. Steve grinned at him.

"Well, we both know that doesn't work," the blond man responded. Behind him, Sam rolled his eyes. Steve looked around. "Where's Patchwork Doll?"

"Here," Nyssa said, pulling herself up with one hand from behind the door, pistol still in her other hand.

"Well, she's walking, at least," Sam commented, mostly to himself.

"Yeah, but… she can't see," Bucky replied softly. Steve raised his eyebrows.

"You gave a blind woman a gun?" he asked incredulously. Bucky opened his mouth to explain, then shook his head.

"You'll just have to trust me on that one," he sighed.

"Okay, Buck," Steve said with a shrug.

"There's nothing wrong with my ears, guys," Nyssa interjected archly. She turned her head towards Steve and Sam. "There's one last thing before we leave. There's a… chamber downstairs with the body of a man. Marcus Riggs. He was… a government agent, an American citizen. I made him a promise. I want to make sure we bring his remains with us." Steve raised his eyebrows at her. Sam nodded, his expression understanding.

"On it," he declared. "You guys get back to the  _Mkhulu._ "

* * *

They encountered very little opposition most of the way back, which made Bucky very wary. His suspicions were confirmed when they entered the last room on their way out, and stopped short at the sight of a dozen men with weapons trained on them. Right behind them, Sturdy stood with a self-satisfied sneer on his face, though when he saw Nyssa that expression turned into barely contained rage. Bucky stepped in front of her, putting himself between her and the firing squad they now faced.

"Put your weapons down and your hands up," Sturdy snapped at them, "or you're all dead." Bucky half-turned towards the door they had just entered the room through, considering his options, but their way was blocked by another pair of thugs with guns. They could not retreat to a point where they would have any advantage. He and Steve exchanged apprehensive looks, bracing themselves for a fight to the end. Suddenly, Nyssa pushed past them.

"Sturdy, we accept your unconditional surrender," she called out, her expression serious. The men aiming guns at them gave her incredulous looks, and a few of them chuckled. She ignored them and continued. "Your data is gone. Your 'test subjects' will be leaving shortly. I don't think Count Nefaria will be coming to your aid any time soon. In less than a day, the air that remains inside this base will be toxic for humans to breathe. You may not be ready to admit it yet, but you're finished here." Sturdy scoffed at first, but by the end of her speech was glaring at her. He took a menacing step towards her. Bucky shifted his weapon to point towards the scientist, ignoring the handful that abruptly trained on him.

"You!" Sturdy snarled. "Do you realize what you have done? You have destroyed decades' worth of research!" She grabbed the sides of her skirt and bobbed slightly in a mocking curtsey.

"And I would do it again in a heartbeat," she shot back at him. "What you call your research destroyed people's lives, and for what? So you can play at being God and Nefaria can add to his power. Don't act as if you were working for some noble cause."

"My research will continue," Sturdy said defiantly. "You have lured some prime subjects here to replace the data you destroyed, I see. I would not have recognized Captain America and the Winter Soldier if it were not for the information I gleaned from you." He looked both of them over, his expression unimpressed. "You seem much less notable in black rather than red, white and blue, Captain. And I see that you have a new arm, Soldier. Splendid. We will be able to explore its capabilities as well."

"You'll do no such thing, Mengele," Nyssa spat. "Your days of experimenting on unwilling victims are over. They don't allow such things in prison." Sturdy rolled his eyes.

"I had thought that severing your optic nerve would at least make you less difficult," he sneered. "I should have paralyzed you as well, when I had the chance." Nyssa's spine stiffened as the man confirmed that it had been purposeful, not simply a surgical mistake.

"I guess hindsight is 20/20," she volleyed back. "But you've done far worse to others. In fact, I would wager that your greatest victim is the one who shares half your DNA." Sturdy blinked at her a moment, then seemed to have a realization.

"What have you done with my daughter?" he demanded.

"She is someplace safe, where you can cause her no more harm," Nyssa answered him. His face was turning crimson.

"I am her father!" he bellowed. "You cannot take her from me!"

"Raping a woman, forcing her to carry your child and then taking her to use in your experiments does not give you the right to that title," Nyssa snarled back, as angry as Bucky had ever seen her. As appalling as these revelations were, he was still unsure what Nyssa was doing, or what her plan was. Then he caught a glimpse of movement behind the line of gangsters, and realized that she had merely been stalling.

"Kill them!" roared Sturdy.

"Now!" Nyssa yelled at the same time. A red-tinged force field sprang up around them just in time for the bullets to ricochet off it, some falling to the ground while others bounced erratically around the room. Several men hit the floor in an effort to avoid being struck by the stray artillery, and nearly all of them flinched. Wanda floated above them, hands extended. She gestured, and a length of narrow pipe tore loose from the wall, winding itself around four or five of the goons, sparks flying from the broken end. Steve took advantage of the chaos and distraction and began dispatching them handily with deft blows and expert throws of his shield. After considering the odds of possibly hitting an ally in the confusion, Bucky put away his rifle and swung at the thug nearest him with a right uppercut that left the man stunned, then finished him off with a left hook before moving on to the next one.

At the other end of the line, a canine shape hurled itself at one of the guards, powerful jaws clamping down on the man's throat. A handful of others were knocked off their feet, their weapons flying across the room as if by an unseen force. Felsma appeared briefly, wrapped her tail around an M16 and tossed it aside, then adjusted her skin to blend in with the shadows once more. Hertz paced along the wall until he reached the bent and broken end of the electrical pipe that Wanda had pulled away. Grabbing the still-sparking end of the wires protruding from it, he extended his hand. Electricity arced from his fingertips, traveling from one thug to the next until a whole row of them were screaming and thrashing, the smell of burnt flesh hanging heavy in the air.

It took only a few minutes before each and every Maggia guard was either dead or unconscious on the floor. Sturdy looked around frantically, but all avenues of escape were blocked. Scrambling, he grabbed the nearest gun and aimed it at Nyssa with shaking hands.

"You cannot win. You will not!" he shrieked, and fired wildly. A moment later, he found himself face to face with a furious Bucky, who disarmed him with an expert twist of his wrist, punctuated by the crunch of carpal bones. Sturdy screamed and fell to his knees, holding his broken wrist with his good hand. Bucky stepped out of the way as Nyssa paced towards the defeated man.

"This isn't about me winning," she said quietly. "This is about keeping people safe from men like you, who bully and abuse and twist people to further your own ends. The world would be a safer place without you in it." She pressed the end of her revolver into his forehead, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the shot that would bring his demise. His breath came in ragged gasps. She pulled back the hammer. "It is tempting." He let out a soft whimper. With a quick shake of her head, she let her hand drop. "But you have too much to answer for." She gestured with her other hand. "Take him on board and make sure he's secure." Scott and Felsma frogmarched him towards the exit.

Wanda approached Nyssa and folded her into a relieved hug. Nyssa returned the embrace. "That worked even better than I was hoping," Nyssa said with a grin. "Your timing was perfect." Wanda beamed back at her.

"The others didn't take too much convincing," she commented. Steve shook his head at them.

"Next time you gals plan something like that, maybe let us in on it, too?" he suggested. Nyssa grinned sheepishly.

"Sure, Nomad, as long as you can promise you won't give it away," she teased.

"What the hell?" Sam's voice echoed over to them, and they turned to see him in the doorway, body bag resting on the floor at his feet as he looked around at the aftermath of their recent battle. "Did I miss something?"

"Not much, just the boss battle, Sam," Nyssa joked, and felt a wave of relief wash over her, making her giddy, and a little lightheaded. It was actually over. The adrenaline that had been keeping her on her feet began to subside, and suddenly her legs couldn't hold her up anymore. She felt arms enfold her, alarmed voices around her, talking to her, but found herself unable to respond as she slid into unconsciousness.


	34. Victorious

They had won, but Bucky didn't feel so victorious as he carried Nyssa's limp body aboard the ship that would take them home. He carried her back to the Medbay, where Sam was already prepping a bed for her. A few other beds were occupied, Onyeka and Nceba thoroughly checking over those who had been held captive at the base, but Bucky barely noticed them. He laid Nyssa down gently, and watched anxiously as Sam started to check her over. Sam's forehead wrinkled in concern as he glanced at her vital signs on the display, and he started looking over her arms, making wordless noises of distress at the state of her wrists.

"Is she going to be okay?" Bucky asked with concern, hovering just behind his friend as he worked. Sam sighed and turned, putting his hands on Bucky's shoulders.

"Look, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure she is. But you're gonna have to give me some space to do my thing. If you want to be helpful, see if you can find a warm blanket for her," Sam instructed. Bucky nodded and went hunting for what Sam had requested. Nceba pointed silently to a cabinet on the wall. Bucky opened it and found the blankets inside were warm to the touch. By the time he returned, Sam had started an IV and was hanging a bag of fluid. Nyssa was still unresponsive, an oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose. Bucky tucked the blanket in around her and brushed a lock of hair away from her face. Sam's expression was a mask of concentration as he swathed her wounds in clean bandages, impregnated with compounds to prevent infection. Bucky tucked himself into a corner, trying to be nearby if needed but out of the way. He glanced out the window and was surprised to notice they were still hovering right outside Nessun Luogo.

"Hey, Nomad," he called over the comm, keeping up the pretense even though they'd already been recognized. "Why haven't we left yet?"

"Just tying up loose ends, Tin Man," Steve replied over his earpiece. "Making sure we're bringing all the survivors with us."

"Have you decided what we are going to do with them after we get back?" Wanda chimed in on the conversation. There was a long pause.

"Not yet," Steve admitted. "We'll have a few hours on the flight home to determine that."

* * *

By the time Sam had finished tending to Nyssa, the slightly panicked look had left his eyes when he looked at the display of numbers next to her bed. The other beds in Medbay had been vacated; everyone else had made it out intact and mostly unharmed. Nceba was still present, watching the one remaining patient as Sam attended to her, waiting to take over when he left.

"Blood pressure's starting to come up," Sam commented with relief. "Still don't like the look of some of those readings, but I think she's stabilizing for now. Should make it until we get back and the real docs can take over."

"Thank you, Sam," Bucky said sincerely. Sam eyed him for a moment, as if waiting for a clever quip to follow.

"Hey, it's what I do," he said with a shrug when no sarcastic comment was forthcoming. "No need to get all sentimental on me." Bucky gave him a sardonic look. Sam chuckled. "You can stay here with her if you want. She may or may not wake up. I'm going to go see if Steve needs my help." Bucky nodded, and Sam left. Moving his seat closer, Bucky set up post next to the head of her bed, watching the blanket rise and fall with her breathing. The desperate frustration that had colored his last few days was gone. She was here, and she was alive. He hadn't realized until this moment how much her presence filled in all his jagged edges, soothed the new raw places in his heart that were just waking up. He watched her sleeping and allowed himself to ponder for just a moment what it might be like to wake up next to her every morning. She who banished his nightmares, eased his anxious mind, and gave his weary soul rest. He reached under the blanket and found her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He was taken by surprised when her fingers curled around his, and he glanced up at her face. Her eyes were still closed, but under the oxygen mask, her mouth was curved into a smile.

_Well, you win._ Her voice in his head was teasing.  _That was definitely the most exciting date I've ever been on._ Bucky let out a startled chuckle.

"I didn't know there was a competition," he murmured back, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

_Well, now there won't be,_ she replied.  _Not now that you've set the bar so high._

"I could try to top it, but I left the nuclear warhead in my other fighting suit," he said dryly. She laughed softly, but that seemed to trigger a coughing fit that left her breathless. Bucky watched with concern as the numbers on the display start to drop again. Nceba was next to the bed in an instant, attentively waiting to see if the matter would resolve itself or require intervention. She glanced at Bucky, but said nothing.

"Shh, just rest," he admonished quietly, resting his left hand on the blanket wrapped around her. Her right hand snaked out from under the blanket to capture his metal hand. Now her eyes did open, and she smiled up at the ceiling.

_You reclaimed your arm,_  she noted, the thought tinged with delight but also regret that she hadn't been there as she had promised. He almost pulled it away from her, but instead froze as she explored the metal appendage with curious, gentle fingers. As light as butterfly wings, her fingertips traced the metal segments along his wrist and forearm, then skimmed down the inner arm and found his palm. He was once again astounded by the new arm's ability to feel more subtle touch, as her caress sent a thrill through him that he quickly stifled. This was neither the time nor the place, and she was in no condition… Her hand ceased its investigation, nestling instead into his palm, small warm fingers interlacing with his metal ones.  _How do you like it?_

"It works," he answered quietly. "It's better than the last one. It helped me get you out of there… alive, at least." He glanced regretfully at her unseeing eyes, gazing just past his shoulder. "Once we get you back to Wakanda, I'm sure they'll be able to restore your sight. I mean, if anyone can, they can." She nodded in response, but he could feel her doubt. They both knew that he said it almost as much for his benefit as for hers. The guilt that he hadn't been able to keep her safe still weighed heavy on him. Her hand tightened around his.

_This was not your fault._ Her voice in his head was gentle, but firm and confident, and for a moment, he almost believed her. Lifting the hand that was still nestled in his, he pressed his lips to her knuckles, careful not to disturb the bandage on her wrist. She closed her eyes, but not before he thought he saw a suspicious sheen in them.  _You're so sweet to me._ He caught a wave of love, affection and gratitude with her words, though they were also tinged with sadness.

"Guess I have a weakness for pint-sized heroes with more heart than sense," he said roughly. He was attempting to keep the tone light with his joke, but something caught in his throat. He took a deep breath and swallowed it down. Her hand tightened comfortingly around his again. "I should… I should let you rest," he stammered. She would spend her energy trying to console him when she needed to use it to stay alive until they could get back to Wakanda. He stood and kissed her on the forehead, the only part of her face that wasn't covered by either medical equipment or that damnable metal hardware. Then he left her there, tossing Nceba a tongue in cheek salute, cursing himself for not being able to keep his emotions in check, his walls up. You'd think, after the decades of practice he'd had, it would be easier to hide them than not, but he couldn't. Not with her.

He made his way to the command station, where Steve was studying screens full of information. At the helm, Cebisa was expertly guiding the aircraft back into the sky. Nessun Luogo was still visible off the starboard side, but finally growing smaller. Bucky stood next to Steve, arms folded over his chest, watching the mountain shrink as their aircraft ascended.

"How's she doing?" Steve asked. Bucky shrugged.

"Still alive," he answered quietly. "Still blind. Still in rough shape."

"She'll have the best doctors once we get her back to Wakanda," Steve reminded him. Bucky nodded but didn't look at him.

"I know." Bucky sighed, then frowned, taking a step closer to the display. "Wait a minute. Is that our heading?" He pointed to numbers scrolling across the screen, eyebrows furrowed. "That isn't going to take us to Wakanda. That's heading out over the Atlantic." Steve glanced towards Cebisa with a look of consternation.

"Where are we going?" he asked her. She glanced over at them, eyes wide in panicked confusion.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I didn't change course. The controls aren't responding to me. It's like the ship has a mind of its own." Bucky frowned. He was the first to admit he still had a lot to learn about computers, but her description sounded awfully familiar.

"Nyssa?" he queried tentatively, incredulously. As far as he knew, she was resting on a bed in a completely different part of the plane. But it wouldn't be the strangest thing he'd seen today. The points of light on the display rearranged themselves into the familiar lines of Nyssa's face.

"Just a small detour, fellas." Her voice drifted out of the  _Mkhulu'_ s speakers. "A quick rendezvous that will solve at least half of the problems on board right now."

"Rendezvous?" Steve repeated. "Where? With who? And when were you going to tell us about it?" Steve was more accustomed to making the plans than being caught by surprise by someone else's.

"I just got confirmation a few minutes ago." Nyssa's visage was replaced with a map and numbers. "The coordinates are on the screen. We should be there in about twenty minutes. We can transfer the families we rescued, the prisoners, and Marcus' remains to them. They will take them back to the US with them. Then we continue on our previous course as planned."

"So, you just decided this, without consulting anyone else?" Steve asked pointedly.

"I did." Nyssa's tone was even and calm. "I had more information that not everyone was privy to, I had means of communication, and I have a plan. Do you have a better idea for how to get everyone to their respective homes without you blowing your cover wide open and possibly getting arrested? Or were we just going to take everyone back to Wakanda with us and depend even more on King T'Challa's generosity?"

"I was… still considering my options," he replied stiffly.

"Perhaps you can consider this a viable alternative," she suggested.

"Nyssa,  _who_ are we meeting?" Steve asked in exasperation. Her face reappeared on the screen.

"The Avengers." Steve's eyes widened at her response, and he started to shake his head.

"Tony said we had to be out of here by the time they arrived. We don't know what they might do if they catch us," he protested.

"Leave that to me," she said reassuringly. Bucky slowly shook his head.

"You are supposed to be resting and healing," he admonished. "Not running a mission while flat on your back in the Medbay."

"Which is already better than coordinating a rescue while chained to a torture table, don't you think? My mind and spirit are fine, Bucky. It's only the flesh that is weak." Her image grinned at him.

"It's your  _flesh_  that still needs to be alive when we get back to Wakanda," Bucky argued.

"What the hell is going on here?" Sam demanded from the doorway, where he had been standing, stunned, for the past several seconds. "Why am I the only one who seems weirded out by the fact that Nyssa is  _in_  the computer?"

"Not the first time I've seen it," Steve said with a shrug.

"It's that metal… thing… they put on her head," Bucky explained, gesturing. "She was in the system at Nessun Luogo, too." Sam looked from the viewscreen to Steve, then to Bucky, and shook his head.

"I swear, this day just keeps getting weirder and weirder," he mumbled, mostly under his breath. The image of Nyssa gave him an amused look, then turned her attention back to Steve.

"Well, Nomad?" she prompted. "Shall we proceed as planned, or shall I tell Tony to turn around and go home?" There was a long moment as Steve hesitated, exchanging glances with Bucky as they both recalled the last time they faced Tony together. It hadn't gone well that time, and the thought of meeting him again filled Bucky with both guilt and apprehension. "If it helps," Nyssa continued after the silence stretched on, "I don't think he's coming with the intention of arresting you. Or fighting you." Steve still hesitated.

"Captain, I'm picking up on an aircraft on an intercept course with the long-range sensors." Cebisa broke the silence with her announcement. "Time to intercept approximately fifteen minutes."

"Sounds like we only have a few minutes to come up with a better plan, Nomad," Bucky said quietly. "What have you got?" Steve sighed and shook his head.

"Nothing that wouldn't inconvenience T'Challa even further," he admitted. "The other captives we freed are already going to be a hard sell." Bucky nodded his reluctant agreement.

"Okay, Nyssa, what's the plan?"


	35. Letting the Blind Lead

"Your plan is terrible." Sam shook his head as he drew up the requested vials. Nyssa started to protest weakly from behind the oxygen mask, but Sam held up a hand. "Any plan that starts with, 'First, give me a stimulant,' is a terrible plan. You're on the injured list, that's supposed to mean you're not on the front line anymore."

"It's a small dose of a mild stimulant, barely stronger than coffee," Nyssa said, pulling off her oxygen mask as she pushed herself to a semi-sitting position. Sam glanced warily at the monitor, but her numbers didn't seem to be dropping. "I just need to be able to focus and function for a little bit longer. After that, you can even sedate me if you want." Sam shook his head.

"I don't think you'll be needing that once this wears off." He pointed a finger at Bucky and Steve, watching with unease from the other side of the table. "I am shocked that you're letting her do this." Steve folded his arms over his chest, his expression defensive. Bucky started to protest, but Nyssa cut him off.

"Nobody is  _letting_  me do anything, Sam. It's the only thing that makes sense. These people need to get home, but most of them reside in countries that signed the Accords, so none of you can set foot there. Besides, can you think of anyone else on board this ship that Tony Stark will actually listen to?" Sam sighed and shook his head in exasperated agreement, injecting the artificial energy into her IV line.

"This is only probably going to get you half an hour, forty-five minutes at most," he warned her. "And then my ass is gonna have to come back here and make sure you don't crash too hard." He waved a handheld monitor the size of a cell phone at her. "I'm going to be watching this the whole time, and if you start crashing early, I don't care what you're trying to do, I'm interrupting the whole thing."

"That's fair." Nyssa's voice was already stronger, a flush of color creeping into her cheeks. She drew herself into a fully sitting position, crossing her legs in front of her, and shivered involuntarily as the cool air of the ship hit the substantial amount of skin that her tattered dress left bare. Bucky took her blanket and quickly draped it over her shoulders. She sent him a flash of gratitude. "Thank you, Sam. You're a good man."

"A good man, a pushover enabling your lunacy… same thing, right?" he muttered. Just then, Cebisa announced overhead that they were being boarded. They had run out of time.

"Where is she?" Tony's voice came floating down the hall, and both Steve and Bucky tensed. Sam watched the door warily. Tony burst into Medbay, concealed by his armor except for the retracted faceplate. He saw Steve and Bucky, and anger flared behind his eyes for a moment before he opened his mouth. Steve stepped into the space between Bucky and Tony, his body relaxed but his eyes on alert. Bucky was rigid, watching Tony warily with one hand on his gun. Tony took a deep breath.

"Tony, don't be an ass," Nyssa said reprovingly. He glanced at her, and his mouth snapped shut. Turning his back on Bucky and Steve, he walked over to stand in front of her.

"Hello, Crazy Train," Tony quipped, sounding at once relieved and appalled. "You… don't look so bad." Bucky bristled at the apparent insult, but Nyssa only smiled. She couldn't see herself, of course, but she could imagine: sitting on a hospital bed, cocooned in a blanket, bandages at her neck and wrists, metal bristling around her head, hair unkempt and unwashed.

"You should know by now that you can't lie to me, Tony," she said quietly. "Why do you still try?" Tony shrugged.

"Force of habit," he replied expansively. Behind him, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, and War Machine stopped in the doorway. Behind him, Natasha slipped silently through. Steve's face brightened when he saw her. She looked over at them and one corner of her mouth twitched upwards, but then she turned with a swish of red hair and began surveying the technology around them.

"I hope you aren't going to need a bigger boat," Nyssa continued with a slight smirk. "We have twenty-seven to transfer to you. Friday has the files. Seventeen are detainees that need to face charges for what they've done, including one Kenneth Sturdy, who I hope will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Nine are women and children who were being held to force husbands and fathers to do things they wouldn't do otherwise. I gave Vision the details on that, so you can stop them before they do too much more damage. And lastly, one body of Marcus Andrew Riggs, which should be returned to his wife and given a hero's funeral." Tony's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You've been busy," he commented.

"I did have help," Nyssa countered. As if reminded there were other people present, Tony turned and looked towards the others.

"I suppose we should start getting people on board. Rhodes?" he cued with one eyebrow raised. War Machine tossed him a salute.

"On it," he responded. Sam seemed to come to a decision, nodded to himself and crossed the room to stand by the black armored suit.

"I can show you where the brig is," he offered helpfully. War Machine turned to regard him with his blank, unreadable metal face for a long moment. Sam didn't flinch. War Machine gestured out into the hallway.

"Lead the way," he said laconically. Sam tucked the handheld monitor into his pocket, and led Rhodes out of the room.

"They might need some help," Nyssa mentioned pointedly in Steve and Bucky's direction. Steve took a step towards the door slowly, but Bucky eyed Tony and stayed put. Nyssa sighed. "We're not going to do anything other than talk. He's not going to hurt me. Sam is keeping an eye on my vital signs. I'll be fine. We just need a few minutes." Tony was very deliberately not looking at Bucky, who muttered something in Russian under his breath, then followed Steve out of Medbay.

* * *

"Can I help you?" Natasha turned to see a tall woman with charcoal-black skin watching her from across the room. The ease with which she carried herself told Natasha two things: one, she would be a formidable opponent, and two, she belonged in this place with screens and scanners and medical equipment more advanced than any Nat had ever seen before.

"Possibly," Natasha said evasively, picking up a probe by the bed next to her. "Is this something you can use to find things inside a body? As in, things that aren't supposed to be there?" The other woman regarded her for a moment with an unreadable expression, then raised her eyebrows.

"It is. Do you want me to show you how it works?"

* * *

"Is that the interface?" Tony asked, rolling back the armored glove of his suit to touch the uneven bits of metal sticking out of Nyssa's head with an air of barely-suppressed horror. "What did they do, raid the scrap bin?" Nyssa let out a puff of mirthless laughter.

"Not really sure, Tony," she replied. "It's not like they showed me the plans. Or even consulted me before they wired it directly into my brain." He pulled his hand back as if the metal had burned him.

"You're hardwired in?" he asked in shock. She raised her eyebrows.

"I certainly wouldn't still have this on my head if it wasn't," she responded dryly. "Though if I can get it removed without it killing me, I'll let you play with it. Maybe you can make something useful out of it."

"Come back with me, and I'll make sure you see the best doctors," Tony promised. Nyssa shook her head.

"The doctors are quite proficient where we are going," she said confidently. "I stand the best chance of surviving there. But I'll let you know once I make it back home safe."

"So, what the hell happened?" Tony asked, gesturing towards her, and then the door. "You were supposed to be safe with… him. Them."

"Don't blame Rogers or Barnes," Nyssa replied coolly. "They weren't what started the trouble."

"Then what was?"

"The Accords," she said flatly. He stopped and stared at her, his face growing still.

"I thought you didn't have an opinion on the Accords," he reminded her.

"I didn't have an opinion that you were ready to hear," she countered. "Though something tells me that maybe you're ready now. Have you read them yet, Tony? I mean, actually sat down and read them, not just had Friday summarize each section for you."

"I've been a little distracted," Tony admitted defensively. "Why, have you read them?" Nyssa nodded solemnly.

"Several times. I keep them on the shelf in my study next to Fahrenheit 451 and Brave New World," she quipped. Tony frowned.

"Why would you need to read them?" he asked, sounding both confused and annoyed that he was confused.

"Did you really think they applied only to you guys in your country club?" she returned. "It's not just for the Avengers. It's for all Enhanced. And it's a bad bit of legislation. There are so many elastic clauses, it practically bounces, and gives the governments who signed some pretty wide latitude. But there's no protections for the people it affects the most. You never sign something you haven't been given time to read, Tony. Any lawyer worth their retainer can tell you that."

"We had a problem with accountability," Tony said stiffly. Nyssa shook her head.

"No, you  _had_ a PR problem," she said crisply. "What you have now are human rights violations. Lists of names to be investigated by the government, Stark Tech being used for involuntary genetic screening, detention centers not bound by any nation's laws, commandos being sent to kill innocent women and children…"

"We needed to be put in check," he protested. "There's been a direct correlation between the presence of the Avengers and instances of superpowered villains. You could even argue causality."

"You opened Pandora's Box," she replied with a shake of her head. "Shutting the lid now isn't going to make anyone safer. It isn't going to make the bad guys give up their power."

"People were dying! Were we supposed to just ignore that?"

"People will still die. More people, because when the next disaster strikes, half of the Avengers won't be there to stop it. If you want accountability, you make an advisory board, introduce licensing, create liaison positions between the Avengers and local authorities, introduce fines for excessive property damage or casualties. The Accords were never about accountability, Tony. They're a blueprint for turning heroes into criminals." She sighed. "Those in power always fear those that could take their power away. So they resort to control tactics. That's what the Accords are. They want to control you and the other Avengers – anyone with Enhanced abilities - by any means necessary. Do you really want to find out what that means? How far they will go to control someone like Wanda Maximoff, for example? You already caught a glimpse of that. Can you imagine what it would take to control someone with the power to manipulate the very fabric of reality?" She gestured to the bandages at her wrists and neck, touched the metal crown on her head. "These were how they tried to control me. This didn't even work, not completely. The problem with trying to control others is, you have to keep using more and more aggressive tactics. Keep escalating, until they either go mad or give in. Do you really want to know what that level of forced control looks like, Tony? Because  _that_  is what killed your parents." Tony's eyes widened, and he stared at her, stunned.

* * *

Sam watched War Machine out of the corner of his eye as they walked down the hall to the brig. He wished that he could see Rhodes' face underneath his metal faceplate.

"Hey," he ventured, "I just want to say, I'm really glad to see you up and moving. I'm sorry for what happened. I never meant for - " He stopped abruptly as Rhodes held up a metal-gauntleted hand.

"I don't really want to talk about that right now," he said flatly. Sam swallowed back the rest of what he had intended to say and silently walked alongside the black and silver suit of armor. "Thanks, though," he continued after a few seconds. Behind them, Bucky and Steve exchanged a look. They reached the door to the brig and stepped inside. Nobomi and Fezeka were standing guard over the prisoners inside. War Machine stopped and surveyed the three separate cells.

"Things are a little crowded in here," he commented.

"We are not used to transporting so many prisoners," Nobomi responded. "Usually we take no prisoners." War Machine turned to look at her, the metal feet of his suit clanging sharply on the floor.

"Then it's a good thing we're taking them off your hands."

* * *

"Look, I was just reading the writing on the wall," Tony insisted. "It was inevitable that they - "

"Only death is inevitable," Nyssa cut him off. "And even then, you don't just roll over and wait for it."

"Ross assured me that the Accords were the best possible outcome…" Tony didn't like uncertainty, or the nagging feeling that maybe he'd been wrong.

"Best possible outcome for who, exactly?" Nyssa queried. "I've met Thunderbolt Ross. I wouldn't trust him to guard an empty warehouse unless he thought there was something in it for him. He's been spearheading this from the beginning, pushing the narrative of the Avengers as vigilantes. He helped write the most punitive parts of the Accords. He does not have anyone's best interests in mind other than his own."

"He's let me take the lead on things, for the most part," Tony argued. "It's not like I haven't tested him."

"Well, you're still willing to play ball," Nyssa pointed out. "He tolerates you busting his balls a little because you're still moving his agenda forward. What happens to you the first time you actually tell him no? What would happen if you publicly defied him? I have a few guesses." Tony sighed.

"I do, too. But I signed, so I'm bound by it."

"I know that." Nyssa rocked slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around her as the chill crept in around the edges of it. "How far do you let them push you, Tony? Ross has what he wanted. He's painted a target on the back of anyone with capabilities outside of some legislated definition of normal. When I get home, I'm going to have to make the same decision as you. Abide by their rules, or you don't get to play the game." She leaned forward, raising her eyes to where she thought his might be. "I will not have a committee as a pimp. There was a time when Tony Stark wouldn't have either."

* * *

The former captives of Nessun Luogo were huddled into a sparingly appointed room, Wanda seated protectively by the door. Gabriele had snuggled into the sole bed and had fallen back asleep, unfazed by the events of the day. Felsma was seated in a chair, her lap covered by a brindled bulk, Mutt's head snuggled up against her chest. In the corner, Hertz had seated himself on the floor, his back to the wall as he watched the rest of the room. Hesitantly, he glanced over at Wanda.

"This is real, right?" he whispered. "I'm not dreaming?" She smiled at him.

"Yes, it's real," she replied. "You escaped. You're free." His face brightened, then grew thoughtful.

"Free," he repeated softly. "So… now what?" Before Wanda could reply, a light-haired man with a glowing jewel embedded in his forehead materialized in the room, passing through the hull of the airship, startling everyone. Wanda's eyes widened, and she jumped to her feet.

"Vision?" she breathed incredulously. The man turned luminous blue eyes in her direction.

"Hello, Wanda," he replied, smiling as if his face wasn't quite accustomed to the expression. "I have been experimenting with different appearances. This one has had the most favorable responses."

"I like it," Wanda declared. "But it isn't necessary. The most important thing is that it's you." He stepped closer to her, his arms hesitantly going around her, and their faces drifted closer. His lips hovered mere inches away from hers. Then he glanced around the room, seeming to remember that they weren't alone.

"Wanda, are these - ?" he started to ask, gesturing to them.

"All you need to know is that they are under my protection," Wanda was quick to reply. Vision took a step back and regarded her with some consternation.

* * *

"Fine. I was wrong. It's all my fault." Tony threw his hands up. "Is that what you want to hear?" Nyssa shook her head.

"I'm not blaming you, Tony," she said softly. "You did what you thought was right, what you thought you had to. You've always only wanted to keep everyone safe. It isn't always clear right away what the consequences of our choices are going to be. The important thing is to be able to re-evaluate and change course when we need to. I don't blame you for this, but I do want you to help me fix it." Tony regarded her for a long moment. She felt his guilt and doubt, as well as the stray thought that she didn't look like she was going to last the day, so what harm was there in making promises?

"What do you need me to do?"

* * *

"That's all of them?" War Machine asked as the last woman crossed from one hovering ship to the other, her daughter clinging to her hand. Steve nodded.

"That's it. I'm sure you will make sure they all get where they need to go," he directed.

"And what about you?" War Machine challenged. "You're still a wanted man,  _Captain_. We would be well within our directives to bring you back with us and let Ross sort out what should happen to you." Both Bucky and Sam bristled, stepping between Steve and Rhodes. The launcher mounted on the shoulder of his armor lowered, taking aim at them. "Same thing goes for all of you."

"We're not coming back with you," Steve said flatly, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, his shield at the ready. The tense moment was interrupted by the medpad in Sam's pocket alarming shrilly. Sam checked it and shook his head.

"Much as I hate to interrupt this pissing contest," he said sarcastically, "we're needed back in the Medbay. Her time's up." The three of them ran back, War Machine following not far behind. They pounded through the door to see Tony holding up a slumped-over Nyssa, keeping her from falling off the hospital bed. Sam and Bucky quickly went to assist, helping to lay her back down. Sam put the oxygen mask back on her face, watching the numbers on the display critically. Tony looked over to see War Machine waiting in the doorway.

"We got everyone loaded?" Tony asked, and Rhodes nodded. "Great. Let's get going. Time to go!" He called the last part over his shoulder, to where he had seen Natasha disappear last.

"Wait a minute. We're not arresting them?" Rhodes asked, pointing to the fugitives. Tony shook his head.

"Our permit is conditional," he reminded his friend. "It says nothing about arresting them."

"Thank you, Tony," Steve said. Tony shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.

"Don't mention it. Seriously." He looked over at Nyssa, then back at Steve. "This… Accord situation… has gone very differently than I intended. It's gotten out of hand. I still have a couple angles I can try, but if I'm going to put my neck on the line, I need to know you're still willing to get back on board. All of you, including Fullmetal Assassin." He gestured to Bucky, who was standing next to Nyssa's bed but watching Tony. "If the Accords aren't an issue anymore, will you still be Avengers?"

"You know I will, Tony," Steve promised. "Whenever you need us, we'll be there." Tony nodded, then glanced over his shoulder.

"What the hell is taking her?" he muttered under his breath, then raised his voice again. "Nat! We're overstaying our welcome, time to go!"

"I'm not coming with you, Tony." Natasha stepped out from behind a privacy curtain, her shoulder swathed in a fresh white bandage.

"Oh, not you too," Tony sighed. Nat shook her head.

"I can't live like that anymore. I won't. I'm not going back." Her voice was quiet but firm.

"What am I supposed to tell them, that you just vanished in the middle of a mission?" Tony protested. Nat held her closed fist out and dropped a small computer chip into Tony's palm.

"Drop my tracker in the Atlantic. Tell them I died," she said breezily. Tony looked down at the little chip for a long moment.

"You're sure about this?" he asked wearily. Nat nodded, and Tony curled his fingers in, closing over the metal tracker. "Fine." He shook his head. "All the rats are jumping ship."

"Tony," Nyssa said feebly from the bed. He turned towards her and she smiled weakly. "I almost forgot to ask how it's going with Copper." Tony raised an eyebrow at her.

"Good. Great. She's great," he answered tersely. Steve frowned in confusion.

"Copper?" he repeated. "Are you seeing someone new, Tony?" Tony grinned, and some of his swagger returned.

"Yeah, she's great," he replied. "Big brown eyes, long golden hair, loves snuggling on the couch and going for long walks…" There was a faint chuckle coming from Nyssa's direction that quickly dissolved in a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like "Golden Retriever." Tony sighed. "Yeah, I got a dog. Pepper takes care of her when I'm out of town."

"Oh," Steve raised his eyebrows. "That's great, Tony."

"Hey guys," Sam interjected, "as heartwarming as the reunion is, we need to get her back. She's not out of the woods yet." Tony nodded acknowledgement and turned one last time to look at Nat.

"Final answer," he warned her.

"I'll be fine, Tony," she promised, glancing over at Steve. "It's not like I'm alone." With a nod, Tony turned and headed for the door.

"So that's it?" Rhodes asked incredulously. "We're just leaving them here?"

"Yep," Tony confirmed casually.

"We're not taking them back with us?"

"Nope."

"Tony, they're  _criminals._ "

"We're over the Atlantic Ocean. Last I checked, no fish signed the Accords. Those laws don't apply here."

"Tony…"

"Not discussing it, Rhodey." The door closed behind them, blocking any further conversation. Steve let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and looked around the room. Natasha was watching him with an inscrutable expression, and he realized she was not as confident about her decision as she had led Tony to believe.

"Welcome to the team, Nat," he said. Relief flashed across her face, and she took three steps, then wrapped her arms around him.

"Believe it or not, I missed your stupid face," she said.

"It's good to see you, too," Steve returned. She let him go and half-turned to watch Sam checking Nyssa's vitals, messing with her IV, while Bucky sat next to the bed, his hand linked with hers. Nat's eyes widened slightly as she took in the scene and realized its implications.

"Is she going to be okay?" she asked. Sam glanced over at her, his mouth set in a hard line, but didn't respond.

"Fingers crossed," Steve replied. "If she can hold on until we get back to Wakanda, I'm sure they will get her fixed up."

Bucky heard the conversation going on around him, but didn't pay much attention to it. Her hand clasped in his was clammy, and what little color had been in her face was draining from it. More disturbingly, he could feel her presence seeming to shrink and collapse in on itself, the ineffable connection between them growing thinner and more tenuous. He tried not to think of the many ways this could end, focusing instead on her and the present. For a moment, she rallied, and the link between them strengthened.

_Just promise me one thing,_ he heard in his head, and tightened his hand around hers.

_Anything,_ he thought back, unsure if he could force any sound around the tightness in his throat.

_No matter what happens to me,_ she requested,  _you live. Find your path and create a life you can take pride in._ His vision suddenly blurred, and he bowed his head.

_I promise. But you promise me the same, okay?_ He focused on her fading spirit, and offered his own strength to bolster hers. He suddenly felt her flagging energy coil around his own vitality, like a vine twining around a tree branch. Tightening his grip on her hand, he held onto her, body and soul, as the  _Mkhulu_ bore them back towards Wakanda and salvation.


	36. Furnace

Bucky Barnes had once been a regular church attendee, appearing there every Sunday with his parents. He grew up praying before meals and at bedtime, reciting the familiar words taught to him by his mother, thanking God for all that was good in their lives. After he had been taken by Hydra, he still prayed often, at first to give him comfort and hope that he would be rescued and the torment would end. As time went on and no help came, he prayed first for the strength to endure, then for the ever-dimming hope that it would end, and finally for the sweet release of death. Years passed with no relief, and he had finally given up in angry despair, convinced that his God had forgotten him. Then they had started wiping his mind, and he forgot his God as well. Now, it had been decades since he and God had been on speaking terms, and he wasn't sure what he truly believed anymore, or even if he remembered how to pray. Instead, eyes focused on Nyssa's still form, he sent a wordless plea heavenwards.

" _Cebisa, what's our ETA?"_ Sam called over the radio in Wakandan, glancing furtively at Bucky as he worked tirelessly to keep Nyssa as stable as he could. He half-nodded his head at her response, then continued. " _Tell them to get a team ready. We've got a patient coming in critical condition, possible septic shock with multiple system organ failure."_ Bucky closed his eyes. Sam had probably been wanting to spare him the details, but didn't realize how much of the language Bucky understood by now.

"What are her chances?" he asked quietly. Sam looked at him for a long moment.

"Hard to say," he finally admitted. "I've seen a lot of things. I've seen soldiers who should have been dead make a complete recovery. I've seen others with what seemed like minor issues take an abrupt turn for the worse."

"What is the most likely outcome?" Bucky asked, a hard edge to his voice. He wasn't looking for sugar coating. Sam sighed.

"It doesn't look good," he admitted. Bucky took in a deep, shaky breath and looked down at the hand lying limp in his. She was still there, albeit faintly. He closed his eyes and focused all his energy on holding on to her. If he could keep her from slipping away from him, maybe she could still pull through, by some miracle.

If only he still believed in miracles.

* * *

"Guys, you should check out the engine room if you have a chance. It's so amazing, I've never seen anything like it…" Scott suddenly stopped talking as he rounded the corner and saw Steve and Nat in the command center. Frowning, he pointed at Natasha. "Where did you come from?"

"Originally? Russia," she quipped with a toss of her hair. Scott shook his head.

"No, I mean… you weren't here when we took off. I'm almost positive about that," Scott protested, frowning and getting a faraway look in his eye as he tried to replay the fight and takeoff in his mind's eye.

"She came with Tony, but opted to stay behind with us," Steve offered helpfully. Scott's eyes widened.

"Tony? As in Tony Stark? As in, Tony Stark was here? Recently?" he spluttered.

"He left about ten minutes ago," Natasha confirmed. Scott put a hand to his head.

"And I completely missed it. I just… I can't… I'm going back to the engine room."

* * *

It was a waiting game until they touched down back in Wakanda, and then everything seemed to happen all at once. Bucky paced beside her bed as it lifted, hovering, and bore her still form into the palace and towards the medical wing, surrounded by the royal medical staff. She would have the best medical care anywhere on the planet. He just hoped it would be enough.

He had to finally let go of her hand as they pushed her into the diagnostic suite, trying to fight the feeling that if he let go of her, she would slip away forever. He recognized Shuri and Kuhle, watching the readouts on the screen as their scanners took numerous readings of Nyssa and fed the information to them. Kuhle clucked her tongue in horror.

" _No spleen, no uterus, missing several meters of intestine, only one kidney… sluggish immune response. It's a wonder she even ventured into a tropical region to begin with,"_ the neurosurgeon muttered in Wakandan to the king's sister. She responded with narrowed eyes.

" _She is either very brave, or very foolish,"_ Shuri declared.

" _Some of both,"_ Bucky replied from beside them. It was his first attempt at speaking the local language, and the words felt clumsy and strange in his mouth, but he must have gotten them mostly right, judging by the astonished looks they gave him. He inclined his head towards the window. " _Most of the missing… parts… are from trauma… when she was sixteen."_ The two women exchanged looks, and Kuhle shook her head.

" _Remind me never to go there for medical care,"_ she muttered. " _Or a vacation."_  Shuri snorted. Kuhle frowned and pulled down a transparent control pad, punching a few commands in to take different views and get more information.  _"Fascinating. Her brain is like nothing I've ever seen. There's an entirely unique structure, there in the middle."_ She enlarged the image. " _I wish I had a clean version to compare it to. That… metal atrocity skewers it, here, here… here and here."_

" _If these readouts are correct, they did not use medical-grade wires, either,"_ Shuri pointed out.  _"These actually are generating heat as they pass through the brain."_ Kuhle made a disapproving noise and shook her head.

" _That will need to come out immediately. It is astonishing that she still lives,"_ she muttered.

" _So,"_ Bucky interrupted. " _Can you save her? Can you restore her sight?"_ Both Shuri and Kuhle turned to look at him as if surprised to find him still standing there. Shuri signaled two of the nurses, and they stepped into the suite and began escorting Nyssa's table off into the medical center.

" _We will do all we can,_ " Shuri assured him.

"If there's anything I can do…" He trailed off, first realizing he had reverted back to English, and also suddenly thinking of his serum-enhanced blood. Maybe a donation could give her the strength to fight… But then he remembered the initial pain after getting the serum, the feeling that his body was devouring itself, and thought maybe she wasn't in any condition to handle that.  _Fragile_ wasn't a word he had ever associated with her before, but…

"I will let you know," Shuri promised, switching to English as easily as he had.

He watched Nyssa disappear, and realized that, for him at least, the fight was over. The rest was up to her. She was going to need all the help she could get. Closing his eyes, he sent the same wordless prayer, but this time found some words to chase it with.  _Please, let her live._

* * *

With nothing left to do but wait, he returned to the living wing to unpack. He arrived just as Steve was showing Natasha to her quarters, two doors down from Bucky's.

"Nice to see you guys have been living in style while you've been on the lam," she commented dryly.

"I suggested to King T'Challa that he keep us in the dungeon, but he made a different call," Steve answered. Natasha glanced at him as if not sure whether he was joking or not. His straight face gave nothing away. Her eyes widened slightly.

"There's a dungeon?" she asked, her tone intrigued. Steve raised his eyebrows at her.

"I don't think you're supposed to get that excited about things like that," he observed. Nat smirked at him. One of the doors further down the hall flew open, and Lila came flying out, her braids streaming behind her.

"See, I told you I heard Auntie Nat!" she called triumphantly over her shoulder, then hurtled down the hallway and launched herself into Natasha's startled arms. Behind her, Cooper, Nate and Clint piled out of the door, eager to see their unexpected visitor.

"Hey, kiddo," Nat said affectionately, giving Lila a tight squeeze. "It's so good to see you guys." She shot Clint a wide-eyed look of surprise. "I didn't expect to see you here. And alive." The biting undertone told Clint she was relieved to see them, but upset at being left out of the loop. Nate threw his little arms around her leg, clinging to her, and Natasha reached down to ruffle his hair affectionately.

"I didn't have time to update you since the news," Clint replied abashedly. "Laura's here, too. With our brand-new baby girl." Natasha's eyes widened again, this time in excitement.

"Do you want to come meet her?" Lila asked eagerly. "She's so cute!"

"Yeah, super cute," Clint agreed. "The baby's pretty adorable, too." Cooper rolled his eyes.

"Dad, you're such a dork," he grumbled. Clint ruffled his hair affectionately.

"That's my job, you know," he pointed out. "My other job. I have two of them. Saving the world, and being a dork to embarrass my kids."

"Does that mean I can fire you?" Cooper shot back. Clint shook his head.

"No, that takes a three-fourths vote of no confidence and a motion to fill the position with an already-identified more qualified candidate, which must be made while standing on your head under a waterfall while gargling whiskey and reciting your mother's favorite poem at the same time." Cooper scoffed at him, and Clint slung an arm over his shoulder as they made their way towards the hospital wing. "Hey, don't blame me, that was part of the contract your mother wrote up." Cooper let out a disbelieving huff of air.

"Yeah, right. Mom would never let us have any whiskey," he argued. Clint grinned and tapped his temple.

"See how clever your mama is?" he replied triumphantly. Steve shook his head, smiling at their antics and obvious affection. His smile faded slightly as he saw Bucky standing at his door, watching their interactions soberly.

"Hey, Buck," he said softly, crossing the rich, inlaid hardwood floor. "How's she doing?" Bucky shook his head.

"Don't really want to talk about it," he admitted, but held up his phone. "They'll call me if anything changes." Steve nodded his understanding. Bucky stood for a moment staring off into his room, his expression blank. Then he seemed to recall that Steve was there, and looked over at his friend. "I guess I'll try to get some rest." Judging by his expression, even he didn't believe that he was going to be able to sleep, but Steve knew enough to give him space.

"All right. Good night, Buck. Hopefully we'll have good news by morning."

* * *

She was falling, falling, falling forever, her screams swallowed by the vast abyss. The darkness consumed her, thinned away her essence until she was insubstantial as air. The ghost of Marcus howled accusingly at her, and her limbs were so heavy she couldn't move them. All around her, monsters with the faces of Count Nefaria, Sturdy, Luca and the rest of her captors jeered mockingly, unfeeling hands holding her down while she fought helplessly. Vines grew from her arms, and she pulled them out, determined not to let them take root in her flesh. Flames leapt all around her, but she still shivered with cold. Marcus joined a host of other lost souls, the ones that infrequently haunted her nightmares, the ones that she hadn't been able to save. Their restless hands plucked at her, demanding to know why she still lived while they did not. She shrieked at them to leave her alone and scrambled to escape, but could not get away.

A new ghost joined the others, one that seemed familiar and somehow soothing. Cool hands brushed against her too-hot face.  _We're trying to help, Nyssa. Just relax._ The voice in her head was recognizable, though she could not place it, and drowned out the cacophony temporarily. Almost despite herself, she did relax, allowing herself to drift on the turbulent ocean of grief and terror rather than fight against the current. Surprisingly, she did not drown, but found herself floating further into the darkness, which seemed less threatening and more comforting to her weary senses. It wrapped around her like a thick blanket, blocking out everything else, and she surrendered to it, slipping into the calming nothingness of oblivion.


	37. Benign

Nyssa opened her eyes to darkness. It was still disorienting. She hadn't quite gotten used to waking up this way. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she did have vague, distorted recollections of nightmares and screaming. The room around her now was quiet, and she thought she sensed Steve off to her left, but right now she didn't particularly trust her senses.

"Hello?" she ventured. Her head still hurt, and she reached up for it but found her arm stopped after just a few inches, restricted by a soft cloth something around her wrist. Panic coursed through her at being restrained, and for a moment she was back in Sturdy's grasp, waiting for death or worse. The presence she had sensed rushed closer, the voice confirming that it was indeed Steve.

"It's okay, Nyssa," he said, his tone set to calm. "You're safe."

"Why am I tied down?" she asked, trying desperately to keep her voice steady, but fear quavered the end of the question.

"I regret that we had to resort to such measures." She hadn't noticed Kuhle come into the room, and wondered how it had escaped her notice. "You were delirious, and kept pulling out your lines and fighting the staff. We could not medicate you too heavily due to the level of organ dysfunction you presented with, but we also needed to treat your septicemia. This was the safest option, for everyone." Nyssa took a deep breath and let it out, quelling the anxiety whirling through her.

"I'll live, then?" she quipped, trying to keep the tone light, but the reaction she felt from Steve told her it had been closer than she first suspected.

"You will live," Kuhle confirmed. "There was a time I was not too certain of it, but yes. You will live. We had to remove the device from your head, as it was causing further trauma and infection." Nyssa nodded.

"I'm glad to be rid of it," she replied. "Did you keep it? I promised someone he could have it to study if I survived."

"You may have it on one condition," Kuhle said sternly. "That you promise not to actually use it. The materials are not fit for use in human tissue." Nyssa nodded.

"I certainly wouldn't want to put anyone else through this," she said softly. "Speaking of which… I still can't see. Does that mean the blindness is permanent?" The doctor hesitated.

"That is what I wanted to discuss with you, once you had returned to your senses. There is a possible treatment. We usually use it to help restore peripheral nerves, but it has had some success with treating neurodegenerative disorders as well. It has not been used for cranial nerves, particularly ones that have been severed and cauterized, as yours have been. I cannot say what the effect will be, but it is the only treatment option that I think will have even a chance of restoring your sight," she explained. Nyssa considered it gravely.

"Side effects?" she inquired.

"In our past use of it with restoring peripheral nerves, there is some temporary discomfort as the nerve regrows, but it generally fades once the treatment is complete. As I said, it has not been tested on the brain, so it is hard to say what undesirable effects we might encounter."

"I don't tend to respond in standard ways anyhow," Nyssa commented softly. She was silent for a few minutes, weighing her options. "All right, let's give it a shot," she decided finally. "It isn't as if it's going to make me go more blind."

"True," Kuhle replied, and Nyssa could hear the smile in her voice as well as sense her amusement. Deciding to press her luck, she raised her arms as far as they could go before the wrist ties stopped her.

"Could I maybe get these off, now?" she asked meekly. Kuhle's amusement remained, but became edged with caution.

"So long as you promise not to give any more of my staff vivid and horrifying hallucinations, I would be happy to remove them." Kuhle's manner was good-humored, but deadly serious underneath. Nyssa held very still as hands tugged at the restraints on her wrists, setting them free, and then slowly pulled them into her lap, reflecting on the new information. Kuhle left to go make arrangements for Nyssa's new treatment. Nyssa slowly rubbed her hands together, feeling the newly-healed skin at her wrists. Her neck had the same odd feeling of skin still new and overly sensitive. Tentatively, her fingers traveled up to skim over her scalp, but her explorations were deterred by soft bandages. The legs of a chair slid softly across the floor, and she sensed Steve's relief and concern as he sat down next to her bed.

"I was giving the staff 'vivid and horrifying hallucinations,' huh?" she asked softly.

"To be fair, you weren't doing it on purpose," Steve reasoned. "You were caught up in your fever dreams, and you just happened to project them into anyone who came into physical contact with you. The only one who could touch you was Bucky, and then only if he used his left hand." Nyssa's eyes widened slightly.

"The metal arm would give him a buffer, I suppose. Did I hurt anyone?" she asked, her voice hushed. Steve shook his head.

"Not badly. Not permanently." The look she shot him made him forget temporarily that she was blind.

"So in other words, yes," she interpreted pointedly. Steve opened his mouth to argue but her next question cut him off. "Did I hurt Bucky?"

"Bucky's fine," Steve assured her. "He wanted to be here when you woke up, but Sam and I made him go and rest. He was up with you almost fifty-two hours, but your fever broke and you were finally sleeping quietly, so we made him go get some sleep before he started having his own hallucinations. He made me promise to stay, though. And I was supposed to go and wake him up when you were conscious again." Nyssa was already shaking her head, although she could feel that Steve had no intention of waking Bucky prematurely.

"No, let him sleep," she protested quietly. "He must be exhausted." Imagining what she had put him through made her heart ache. Steve's energy turned contemplative. Nyssa half-smiled. "You're giving me the eyebrows again, aren't you?"

"The eyebrows?" Steve repeated blankly. Nyssa chuckled.

"The wrinkle you get between your eyebrows when you're concerned but aren't sure you should say anything," she teased. His energy turned sheepish.

"It's not the first time for Bucky, you know," he said, changing the subject. Nyssa raised her eyebrows for him to continue. "When we were growing up, I got sick a lot. Usually really sick at least once a year. Ma took care of me as much as she could, but she worked long shifts to make ends meet, and she couldn't always stay with me. So Buck spent a lot of time sitting with me when he could have been out having fun and raising hell. I remember once, I got so sick that I lost a couple days. Afterwards, Bucky had a big ol' shiner. When I asked, he said he ran to the store to get supplies and got into a fight with Rusty Durbin over a comment Rusty made about his sister. But when I confronted Rusty about it later, he acted like he didn't know anything about it. I never did find out what actually happened." Nyssa smiled.

"You sucker punched him, thrashing around when your fever started to spike," she explained.

"I thought it might be something like that," Steve admitted.

"I do want to thank you, Steve," she ventured. "You trusted in me, even when you had very good reasons not to." Steve nodded slowly.

"It worked," he acknowledged. "This is the first time I've had hope that Tony and I could bury the hatchet, maybe even be a team again someday." Relief and triumph washed over Nyssa, and it must have showed on her face more than she intended, because the edge of suspicion in him became recognition. "But that was your plan all along, wasn't it?" Nyssa's eyes widened in surprise.

"Are you suggesting that I planned all of this?" she asked dryly, gesturing to the hospital room and her bandaged head. "I didn't plan to be kidnapped, tortured and blinded. I'm not that reckless."

"No, but I'm familiar with that strategy," Steve admitted. "It's called trying to make some good come out of a really terrible situation. Although, I used to have a pretty low success rate with it, personally." He leaned closer. "I know you had a plan. It's the only thing that makes sense. Why you would volunteer to come here, help Bucky, rescue Clint's family, and then get Tony involved when you knew we would be there, too? You're trying to get the Avengers back together, aren't you?"

"Plan might be too generous of a term," Nyssa relented. "There was a lot of improvising involved. But yes, healing the rift in the Avengers was the end goal. The only idea I had initially was to help Bucky. The rest was… just taking opportunities as they came."

"The only thing I haven't figured out, is why? Why would you risk so much?" Steve asked. "We didn't have anything to do with you."

"Because Tony is right," Nyssa sighed. "There's something coming. Something big. I don't know what, but there are… evil forces out there that will put the world in danger, even possibly destroy it." She could feel Steve's disbelief, and sighed. "I've had a built-in alarm system since I was a teenager. Anyone who intends harm sets it off from miles away. Usually it's specific to me, but it was also going off the day of the Chitauri invasion. Ever since then., it's been there as background noise, and getting stronger. Something big, powerful, massive… but far away. I don't know when, and I don't know what. But I know if you are all locked up or scattered when whatever it is happens, then the earth doesn't stand a chance. The Avengers are our best chance of surviving. I'm the closest thing you could find to an expert in rebuilding, but.. you can't rebuild if there's nothing left." She heard rustling as Steve sat up straighter.

"So you healed Bucky to try and save the world," he summarized, amusement coloring his tone. She chuckled.

"That is a very oversimplified synopsis, Mr. Rogers. But not entirely inaccurate," she said with a smirk. She could feel his gaze on her as he grew more serious.

"So, you and Bucky… was that part of your plan, too?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No." She swiveled her head to look at where she sensed he was sitting. "Please don't mention it to him. I don't want him to feel like he was some sort of… of… pawn. Or… something." She frowned at the sudden short-circuit in her vocabulary. It was starting to get hard to concentrate, and she was so, so tired. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open. Steve put a comforting hand on her blanketed leg, and stood.

"I won't mention it. I'll let you get some rest. I'm sure Bucky will be by as soon as he wakes up. I'm glad you're feeling better." Steve's voice sounded like he was at the end of a long tunnel. The bed beneath her was soft and warm, and she sank into its comfort. Her life was no longer in danger, at least for the moment, but it would take time and lots of rest before she would be well recovered.

* * *

Bucky paused in the hallway outside Nyssa's hospital room. The door was partially open, and the nurse was setting up her breakfast tray for her, talking her through where each item was in front of her. Nyssa felt for each item, touched one finger lightly next to it with a short nod of her head. The nurse finished and left the room, glancing at Bucky as she passed by him, but he still hesitated to walk through the door, content at the moment just to look. Her hair was brushed, tumbling from the white border of the bandage that wrapped around her head to down around her shoulders. She was seated cross-legged on the bed, which only served to accentuate how small she was. Against the stark white of her Wakandan hospital garb, she remained a little pallid, but not the deathly pale from recent memory, nor the febrile flushed and angry crimson cheeks, counterpoint to sunken, indigo eyes and sickly pallor. She was awake, she was alert, she was alive.  _Thank you, God._  He felt more than saw her expression change as she noticed his presence, a slow smile spreading across her face that made his heart skip a beat. His wabi-sabi Patchwork Doll.

_I know you're out there. You can come in. I promise I won't put up such a fight this time._  Her words in his mind were gently teasing, a blend of both self-deprecation and gratitude. He entered her room hesitantly, his stomach clenching at the bruises still visible on her skin. She'd had a few when they had rescued her, but those were fading. There was a sprinkling of violet smudges on her forearms, some from flailing around and swinging blindly at her fever demons, others from having to be held still. The one that gave him the most pause was barely visible at her neckline; the clear outline of four fingers, colored in with deep purples and greens like watercolors. He didn't have to compare it to his hand to know it would be a match. The thumb and palm print were hidden by her shirt. He winced a little at the memory. She had been struggling hard at the height of her fever, thrashing so much in the bed that she'd nearly thrown herself to the floor, screaming and striking out at both the staff and things nobody else could see. He'd had to hold her down to keep her from hurting herself or anyone else, but in her delirium, she was freakishly strong. He held her down, her skin burning up under a hand calibrated to tell him exactly how terrifyingly high the fever had gotten, while they tied down her limbs, hating every minute of it but unable to see any other way to get the lifesaving treatments into her and help her body fight off the infection poisoning her, killing her. She had finally gone from desperate struggle to restless slumber, and he lifted his hand to see the red, angry outline on her skin, already starting to darken and bruise. It was that moment that had stalked him through his dreams after he finally had gone to bed. He slipped his left hand into his pocket as he drew closer to her.

"It's good to see you awake," he said finally. She set her spoon down and gave him her full attention.

"Thanks to you," she replied. He raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Pretty sure the doctors had more to do with it than me," he insisted.

"All their treatments would have been pretty useless if they hadn't been able to get them into me," she pointed out. "And from what I hear, nobody else could get me to cooperate." He sighed. She wasn't wrong.

"Do you remember any of it?" he asked cautiously. She shook her head, and he was disappointed, relieved and ashamed all at once.

"It's all a jumble, mostly nightmares and…. erm, colorful images." He grimaced at her diplomatic description. He'd caught a few glimpses of the terrifying nightmarescape in her head – pretty much everyone who had been within fifty feet of her had – but as long as he only touched her with the metal arm, he could keep from being overwhelmed by them. Unlike a few unfortunate nurses, who had needed to go home early after they began sharing in her hallucinations. He wasn't picking up on much from her now. Her presence was as calm as he was used to it being, though there was more sadness there than he had been aware of before.

"I brought something for you," he said quietly, pulling the necklace she had lost during the attack out of his pocket. "You, ah… you dropped it." After a moment of hesitation, he looped the chain around her neck and fastened the clasp at her nape. He tensed as his metal arm brushed against her skin, pulling it away quickly. She cupped her hand around the stone.

"Thank you, I... thought I'd lost it." The stone was warm from being in his pocket, and still carried traces of his internal conflict. She held her hand out towards him, and he looked at it for a moment.

"I didn't bring anything else," he said with a slight shake of his head.

"Your hand, silly," she requested. He sat down in the chair next to the bed and put his right hand in hers. She laced her fingers through his, then held out her other hand. "The other one, too." He hesitated. "You're afraid," she realized out loud.

"I don't want to hurt you again," He said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand hovering centimeters away from the mark on her chest but stopping shy of touching her. She covered his handprint with her hand.

"I had wondered where that came from," she murmured. "It's not even very sore, honestly. My tattoos were worse."

"Not the point," Bucky grumbled.

"The point is, you weren't trying to hurt me. You were helping. At the expense of your own comfort and sleep, even. I don't recall any of it, but by all accounts, you were heroic." He snorted in disbelief, but she kept her hand extended towards him patiently, and finally he relented, laying his metal hand in her human one. She tightened her fingers around his. "Don't worry that you will hurt me, Bucky. I don't."

* * *

Sam was standing out on the balcony outside his room. From this height, he could see the hustle and bustle of the people on the street below. Their conversations drifted up to him, muted and soft, but it was not their speech that drew his attention. Above them in the treetops, birds warbled, chirped and sang, but somehow his brain was translating them all. He had been vacillating between fear that he was going crazy, and reassuring himself that if he had the presence of mind to wonder if he was, then he must not be. That was how it worked, right? Heaving a sigh, he shook his head and went back inside, closing the door to the balcony to block out their voices. Then he locked it for good measure.


	38. Well-Worn Welcome

Nyssa was dozing after breakfast and freshening up. She knew she should have patience with herself after all she'd been through, but she still found herself frustrated when her body wanted to shut down after just a few routine cares. Visitors at her door made her rouse herself, and she smiled in that direction.

"Come on in, Laura, Clint," she greeted them.

"Our daughter wanted to meet the woman who saved her life before she was even born," Laura said in introduction, drawing closer to Nyssa. A small, warm, sleepy bundle was pressed into Nyssa's arms, and her smile widened.

"Oh, she's perfect," Nyssa cooed, finding and tracing the newborn's face with gentle fingers. "What did you name her?"

"Well, we wanted to talk to you about that," Clint replied. "We'd love to name her after the woman she owes her life to."

"Well, Laura is a perfectly good name, but won't that get a little confusing at home?" Nyssa joked. Laura chuckled, and Clint snorted.

"We were intending to name her after you," Laura elaborated. "We just wanted to discuss it with you first." Nyssa's eyes widened, and she felt happy tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm truly, deeply honored, you guys. Names that carry history carry a lot of weight with them. She should be free to create her own destiny, create her own name." She focused on the tiny human cradled in her arms. "She will, if you give her the chance."

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Clint asked dryly. "We hadn't really picked any backup names." Nyssa considered the question earnestly.

"If you want to use my middle name, I think that would fit her," she said shyly.

"And what is that?" Laura asked eagerly.

"Grace," Nyssa answered. "I think we could all use a little Grace in our lives." The baby yawned and waved a tiny hand, then wrapped her little fist around Nyssa's finger and fell back to sleep.

* * *

The royal exercise room was used by all the inhabitants of the palace, from the king and the Dora Milaje all the way to the servants who worked in the kitchen and kept the palace in spotless condition. There were usually a handful of people there, but today it was very sparsely populated, with only a couple servants using some of the equipment. At the center of the gym was a large, open area covered with a padded mat that was commonly used for sparring and other floor exercises. Steve and Bucky squared off in the middle. Bucky had been insistent that he needed to be back in top fighting shape if he were going to be going on any more missions with Steve. And truly, it was gratifying to get back to something familiar. He hadn't lost as much as he feared. He was able to block nearly all of Steve's punches, and give as good as he got. Sparring against Steve now was much different than back when they had been growing up together and he was training his undersized friend to defend himself. Big Steve was faster, stronger, more strategic. He remembered this from fighting him as the Winter Soldier, but even when it was more relaxed, and they weren't fighting for their lives, it was still quite a workout. After an hour, they were both out of breath and sweating, and Steve signaled to take five.

"I don't know what you were talking about, out of shape," he panted. "You're still more than a match for me."

"Good to see you remember to keep your guard up, nowadays," Bucky said teasingly. He'd lectured Steve endlessly about that while he was teaching him to box, though the lesson had taken awhile to stick.

"At least you're not coming at me with a knife this time," Steve retorted. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Hey, I'm just glad to have a sparring partner that quits when I'm down," he grunted. Steve raised his eyebrows at him, but didn't ask for him to elaborate.

"You're definitely an upgrade from my usual punching bag," he remarked. "I was going through three or four of them a week."

"Well, at least it's a role I'm familiar with," Bucky quipped. "Ready to go again?" He got up and paced back to the middle of the mat, falling naturally into a fighting stance. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Steve went to join him. He squared his shoulders, bent his elbows and swung. Bucky blocked with his metal arm, but stumbled backwards as a wave of energy slammed into him, and his arm suddenly went unresponsive. Steve frowned, looking around the gym as all the lights went out at once.

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky asked, gesturing with his still-functional right arm. Steve shrugged, and the two of them jogged off to investigate.

* * *

In the hospital wing, the low-level beeps and hums and whirrs that were the constant backdrop suddenly ceased, and alarms began to sound as the few pieces of equipment that didn't have built-in backup power began to fail. Nyssa frowned and sent out a curious thought to see what had happened.

"What's going on?" Clint asked, pacing to the door and poking his head out.

"Power's out," Nyssa replied. "They don't know why yet."

"I'll check it out," he decided. "You girls stay here."

* * *

Steve and Bucky reached the Royal Wing just as Black Panther came stalking out in full armor, the Dora Milaje flanking him in two long rows. Clint appeared a moment later.

"What's going on, your highness?" Steve asked. "Is there an attack?"

"That is what we are trying to determine. The electromagnetic pulse originated from the fifth floor of the east wing." Steve and Bucky exchanged looks. That was where their quarters were. They turned around and followed the King and his entourage upstairs. They all paused outside the door of Wanda's quarters, from which they could all hear screaming. They all braced themselves, falling into position instinctively, and Black Panther kicked open the door.

"…don't care who started it, you're both done, you hear me?" A very exasperated-sounding Wanda yelled, hands raised. Gabriele was floating up near the ceiling in a red bubble, while Hertz was trapped in an identical globe in the corner, a petulant look on his face. "Just because you have the power, doesn't mean you need to use it the moment you don't get your way!"

"You're absolutely right, Wanda," Clint said, stepping into the room. She turned, startled.

"Clint! What are you doing here?" she asked, then noticed the crowd outside her door. "What are you all doing here?"

"Power's out in the whole palace," Steve explained.

"Actually, three-quarters of the city," Black Panther corrected. "Have you any idea how that might have happened?" Wanda looked shamefaced.

"I'm sorry. They were quarreling, and…" she gestured helplessly. "I promise you, it won't happen again, your highness."

"I am relieved that Wakanda is not under attack," T'Challa said dryly, removing his mask. "But I do hope that these circumstances will not repeat themselves." He glanced around at Wanda, Clint, Steve and Bucky. "Perhaps the time has come to discuss your continued presence in Wakanda, and what conditions must be in place to keep everyone safe." They exchanged nervous looks. "Meet me in my study tonight. All of you." He and the Dora Milaje left, leaving the others looking at Wanda with varying levels of concern and exasperation. Sheepishly, Wanda lowered Gabriele to the floor, and dismissed the bubble around Hertz. The teenage boy adjusted his shirt, brushed off his sleeve, shot her a dirty look and disappeared into the bedroom of their suite, slamming the door behind him. Gabriele burst into tears and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Wanda went to her, trying to offer comfort, but the little girl pushed her away. Wanda hung her head in defeat.

"Wanda, you seem… a little overwhelmed," Steve commented. She threw her hands up, looking like she might start crying.

"I thought I could help them be a family, of a sort," she said. "After all they've been through, they should have that much. But they've done nothing but argue and fight, both with each other and with me, since we got back. I just don't know how to stop it."

"As you said, they've been through a lot," Steve reasoned. "I know being a single mom isn't easy. It wasn't easy for my mom."

"You're trying to be a mom to a little girl who grew up as a test subject instead of a kid, and a traumatized teenager who's never known anything close to a normal life," Clint pointed out. "That's kind of like starting out a game on the hardest level." Wanda leveled a glower at both of them.

"It's hard, I'm realizing that. None of that helps me figure out how to help them," she said acerbically. The men exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"I might have some books you could borrow…" Clint ventured.

"Why doesn't she come and stay with us?" The high-pitched query came from the door, and they all turned to see Lila standing there. She nodded at Gabriele, who was still sobbing on the floor. "You said she's never had a chance to just be a kid, right, Dad?" She barely waited for Clint's confirmation before continuing. "So then she needs to be around other kids."

"Honey, it's not going to be like having your friends over," Clint started to explain. "She has a lot to learn…"

"Well, obviously," Lila dismissed him with a gesture. "But how is she going to learn if you don't let her try it?" She crossed the room confidently and crouched down next to the younger girl. Gabriele's cries had quieted, and she was watching Lila with thinly veiled interest. "What do you want to do? Do you want to come stay with my family for awhile? I have two brothers and a brand new sister. The baby doesn't do much other than cry yet, but she's really cute. My older brother can be kind of a lunkhead sometimes, and my younger brother can be annoying. But you can sleep in my room and I'll share my dolls, except for my special Auntie doll." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Plus, I'm working on a special project they gave me when we toured the research building with Mr. Scott. What do you think? Do you want to?" Gabriele regarded Lila with wide eyes, and slowly nodded, blonde curls bobbing. Lila excitedly grabbed her hand, and the two girls ran out of the door. Clint watched them go with a mix of pride and trepidation, and ran a hand down his face.

"Laura is going to kill me," he groaned, then sighed. "Guess I better go tell her. Been nice knowing you guys." Wanda blinked, taken aback by this surprise turn of events. She turned her attention to Steve and Bucky. She raised her eyebrows at them.

"Do either of you have any advice for how to talk to an angry, traumatized teenage boy?" she asked bluntly. "Especially one who can take the power out in most of a city when he's upset?" Steve let out a long breath, slowly shaking his head.

"No, not really," he admitted. "But I wish you the best of luck." Wanda gave him an arch look, then turned her hopeful gaze to Bucky.

"I'm certainly not an expert in that sort of thing," he demurred. "But you could try asking Nyssa. She'd probably have some good advice."

"Isn't she still in the hospital?" Wanda recalled. "I heard she wasn't in any state to have visitors. And then… I was busy trying to get the hang of this parenting business." Bucky nodded.

"She's doing a lot better. She probably wouldn't mind the company." They all winced as loud music started to make the walls shake. Wanda sighed, closed her eyes and held a finger up. The music briefly dropped in volume, then roared back louder than before. Wanda groaned and looked heavenward for patience.

"I'll see if she's up for a chat," she sighed.

* * *

Slowly and methodically, the nurse removed the bandages swathed around the top of Nyssa's head. She was healed enough that it would now remain exposed to air. The last of the bandages fell away, and she sensed an immediate reaction from the nurse of dismay, though she remained professional. For the first time since her ordeal, Nyssa wished she could check her reflection in a mirror. There was a knock at her door.

"Come in, Wanda," she called softly, pushing down the urge to pull the blanket over her head. She felt the other woman approach. "Be honest with me. How bad is it?" She felt the shock and hesitation as Wanda drew closer.

"I don't know if I could pull it off, but I'm not up on the latest fashions," Wanda said diplomatically. Nyssa sighed and held a hand out towards her friend.

"Let me borrow your eyes," she requested. Raising an eyebrow, Wanda put her hand in Nyssa's. Nyssa concentrated, and after a moment Wanda's vision came into focus. It was disorienting, but it worked. Nyssa slowly turned her head back and forth, taking in the large chunks of hair missing, the angry red scars tracking across her scalp. She swallowed hard. "Well, this won't do."

* * *

Steve knocked on the door to the room they had settled the other survivors from Nessun Luogo into, frowning as he searched his memory for their names.

"Mutt and Felsma," Bucky murmured behind him. Steve was about to thank him for the reminder when he realized Bucky was reminding himself. A diminutive man with short hair answered the door. Steve blinked at him. He had washed and trimmed his hair, shaved his face, and now scarcely looked like the hirsute and bedraggled man who had helped them fight for his freedom. His chin was still pink from becoming reacquainted with a razor after who knew how long, though stubble was already forming along his jawline. He was clad in jeans and a button-down shirt that Scott had donated to him. It was slightly baggy on his frame, but presentable.

"Hallo. Is there a problem?" he asked in his accented English.

"Not with you," Steve sighed. "But I guess the others have been causing enough trouble that T'Challa wants to meet with all of us tonight. I assume he was including the two of you in that request." Mutt nodded gravely.

"I suspected the power outage had something to do with the boy," he admitted. "We had them regularly when they first threw him in the cells. At least, until they figured out how to stop him."

"How did they do that?" Steve asked with mild interest. Mutt shrugged.

"Not very nicely, I imagine. The same way they did everything in that place. Do you want to come in?" He stepped aside and gestured for the two men to enter. "Felsma,  _Gesellschaft,"_ he called.

" _Wer ist es?"_ An odd, feminine voice floated out of the bathroom, sibilant s-sounds drawing the words out longer than normal. The sound of splashing water punctuated the question, and a few moments later, Felsma emerged, wide eyes staring unblinkingly at the two super soldiers, a towel draped modestly around her scaled body. She crossed the room and twined one green arm around Mutt's waist, her tail curling around his leg.

"Would you like a drink?" Mutt offered. "We don't have much aside from water, but Ms. Maximoff was kind enough to bring some tea." Steve held a hand up and shook his head.

"That's okay, we can't stay…" he started, but Bucky was not in a hurry to leave. He suddenly found himself very curious.

" _Did you two know each other from before?"_ he asked in German. Mutt and Felsma glanced at each other, and both nodded.

" _We attended the same University, in Berlin,"_ Mutt explained in the same language.  _"We both responded to an advertisement in the paper, looking for students to participate in a medication trial. The medication was supposed to improve concentration and study habits, make it easier to make the grade. There was a cash incentive as well, so we were interested. They had an odd screening process, lots of questions, blood samples, health histories. It didn't seem strange to us at the time. We only saw the 500 Deutschemarks. But we both were selected to participate, and showed up for what was supposed to be a two-week trial. The first week was uneventful, but at the beginning of the second, we woke up in a strange place…."_ He waved a hand, indicating the passage of time. " _Twenty years, being poked and prodded and experimented on, turned into… freaks. Worst of all, they never paid us our money_!"

"Well, I understood University," Steve remarked dryly. "What were you studying?"

"Education," Mutt answered, grinning sheepishly as he switched to English. "I was going to be a teacher." He gestured grandly to Felsma. "And she was studying cooking." Felsma made an indignant noise.

"Cooking, my scaly green ass!" she exclaimed. "I was studying for my master's degree in Food Science, with an emphasis in Molecular Gastronomy. I studied the physical and chemical changes that happen when different methods of food preparation, incorporating the social, artistic and technical components."

"That's what I said," Mutt said cheerfully. "Cooking." Scoffing, Felsma shook her head. Mutt affectionately scratched under her chin. " _You are so lovely when you're annoyed with me,"_ he murmured. Bucky suppressed a smile.

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Wanda asked for the twelfth time. Nyssa nodded.

"Better to let it all grow back together," she said regretfully. They had draped a sheet around her shoulders to catch the long strands as they fell, and the nurses had found her some clippers. With a small frown and a shake of her head, Wanda began to shave off the hair that was left. "So, Wanda," Nyssa continued. "You had something on your mind before I conscripted you to be my impromptu beautician."

"I did," Wanda agreed. "Since we've been back, I've had Gabriele and Hertz – the boy who controls electricity – staying with me. My thought was that they needed something like family. But…" She sighed. "It hasn't been going well."

"You've been trying to do it on your own?" Nyssa asked.

"Well, yes," Wanda admitted. "When it was Pietro and me, we were on our own, and we did just fine. I guess maybe I was envisioning something similar. Not that I am trying to replace Pietro," she added quickly.

"Of course not," Nyssa replied. "But you and Pietro were already bonded. To those kids, you're practically a stranger. They need time, they need to learn to trust, they need to know that someone will care for them no matter what. Those are all new things for them. They have been used and abused all their lives. They may have difficulty attaching to anyone."

"Maybe not," Wanda said thoughtfully. "Hertz seems very focused on his mother. One of the few serious conversations we've had, is that he wants to go and find her. He does seem convinced that she is still alive, out there somewhere."

"How old was he when they were separated?" Nyssa inquired. She knew, once. Much of the information she had "downloaded" was starting to get fuzzy.

"The little information we have puts him at about… seven," Wanda said, pushing Nyssa's head forward gently to shave the back of it. "They took him away. He doesn't know what happened to her. But mostly he's just sarcastic and rude and…." She shook her head. "Angry."

"Well, can you blame him?" Nyssa asked lightly, but fell silent as Wanda shaved around her ear, contemplating the situation. "Do you want me to talk with him? One conversation isn't likely to fix things, but it can help me give you more specific ideas of how to help him. He probably needs long-term therapy, after everything he's been through."

"That sounds like a good place to start," Wanda admitted, feeling as though a small portion of the weight had lifted from her shoulders. "Maybe with Gabriele, too? Though Clint's daughter seems to have decided that she's going to stay with them for awhile." Nyssa chuckled.

"Spending time in a normal family might help her quite a bit. I'll talk with her too, yes. But, Wanda, the most important thing is for you to remember, you don't have to do this on your own. Have you ever heard the expression, it takes a village to raise a child?" Wanda nodded, knowing that Nyssa would sense her agreement even if she couldn't see the head movement. "Well, so what would it take to raise a super-powered child?"

"A… village of… superheroes?" Wanda ventured tentatively. Nyssa grinned.

"In theory, that should certainly do it," she agreed. "So don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it."

"Okay. All done. What do you think?" Wanda set the clippers down and walked around to stand in front of Nyssa, taking her hands again to let her use her eyes. Nyssa lapsed into silence, turning her head from side to side and examining the close-cropped result. Her scars still stood out in crimson relief, now that they had nothing to shield them, but at least the hair was all one length.

"It will grow," Nyssa sighed.


	39. Choices

Sam joined the slowly-growing group clustered outside of T'Challa's study. They were mostly silent, with only a handful of strained, whispered conversations to break up the tense silence. Hertz slouched against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and sullen expression a shield against the curious and accusing glances. Wanda stood near him, at once both watchful and protective. The Bartons filled an entire corner, Laura holding baby Grace while Nate clung to her leg. Lila held hands with Gabriele, and Cooper tried to look as grown up as possible, standing next to his father. Scott was on time for once, and slipped into the space between the Bartons and Bucky. Mutt and Felsma stood next to the wall, looking as if they might rather disappear into it, hands linked for strength. Steve stood nearest the door, waiting pensively. Natasha appeared last, causing a ripple of surprise through the group. Her customary red hair had been lightened to a nearly white-blonde. She smirked at their reactions.

"I figured I'm a ghost now. Might as well look the part," she quipped with a shrug.

"It looks good," Steve assured her. Further conversation ground to a halt as the door opened and Okoye surveyed the group waiting outside with a disapproving expression. She stepped aside and gestured within.

"His majesty will see you now," she announced. Silently, the group filed into the room. Behind a magnificent iroko desk, T'Challa sat in a chair only slightly less grand than the one in the throne room. He stood and crossed to the front of the desk, standing with his hands clasped behind his back as he regarded his visitors. Okoye resumed her station by the door, her eyes ever watchful for any threat to the king.

"Thank you all for coming," T'Challa began. "I regret that this meeting even needs to take place, but perhaps it was inevitable. When you first came, there were those who doubted my wisdom in allowing you to stay, who felt you might be a threat. I had hoped that those voices would subside as you remained and did not pose a threat. However, it has not happened the way I had hoped." He shook his head. "There have been several incidents recently that have strengthened the arguments of the isolationists. Most recently, the attack on the city in which Dr. Taylor was taken, and then the incident this morning." He held his hand up as Steve, Bucky and Wanda all began to protest, and they fell silent. "I understand the extenuating circumstances. However, these instances have had direct impact on Wakandan citizens. It has also not escaped either my notice or theirs that your numbers continue to grow. If my father were king, he would likely have you all banished permanently from our borders." The expatriates exchanged nervous glances, and the study grew silent enough to hear a butterfly's sneeze. T'Challa's expression softened. "I am not my father. I do recognize that some of you have also been a great help to Wakanda. But I feel it would be best for everyone involved if you each were to decide whether Wakanda is where you wish to live long-term, or if your desire is to move on to another place. If you wish to stay, we can discuss whether… citizenship might be an option." A half-strangled exclamation came from Okoye's station at the door. A few of them glanced in that direction, but T'Challa ignored it and continued. "Until now, Wakanda has not had an immigration policy. We were more focused on keeping everyone out. It does occur to me that we are, perhaps, in need of one." He meditated on that for a moment before moving on. "If, on the other hand, you do not wish to become a Wakandan citizen, perhaps now is a good time to consider what you do want your next step to be. Wakanda is a paradise. It is not meant to be… what is the term the Christians have? It is not meant to be a purgatory." The king straightened up, surveying all of them for a moment before waving his hand. "I will give you until the end of this month to decide. That gives you seventeen days. I look forward to hearing what you've decided."

There were several long moments of stunned silence before they realized that he was finished, and they slowly began filing out of the study. T'Challa returned to his chair, seating himself behind the desk. Steve waited until most of the others had left before he approached the massive bureau. T'Challa glanced up at him, then back down at the papers stacked atop the wood.

"Your contract is still in effect, if that is what you intend to ask about," he answered casually.

"With all due respect, your highness," Steve began tentatively, "are you trying to split us up?" T'Challa set down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

"Not at all, Captain. I have presented your people with options," the King pointed out. "They need only to choose. If who is with you remains more important than where you are, I am sure that will factor into your choice. Whatever their decision, no one is being banished."

"I am to stay in Wakanda for another two years," Steve reminded him. "If they choose to go…"

"I do not recall that part of our agreement," T'Challa contradicted him mildly. "As I remember it, your contract states that you are to be of service to Wakanda for that time period. It says nothing about where you must live." Steve raised his eyebrows, then bowed to T'Challa.

"Thank you, your highness," he murmured before following the others out the door. With a sigh, T'Challa began once again sifting through the paperwork on his desk. Several minutes passed.

"Was there something else you needed, Samuel?" He asked, not looking up from his paperwork. Sam appeared from where he had been half-hidden behind an ornate bookcase, his expression hesitant.

"I was hoping we could talk in private," he said, glancing over at Okoye. T'Challa smiled tiredly, leaning back in his chair.

"I am a king now. This is as private as it gets," he sighed, the weight of his new role curving his shoulders. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"Well, ah…" Sam rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I remember you were saying something about… the meteor having mutagenic properties, and how if someone is exposed too much, sometimes they start… I mean, how do you know if you've been exposed too much?" T'Challa spread his hands.

"It varies greatly from person to person. What have you been experiencing that makes you suspicious?"

"No, um, not me," Sam protested, shifting from one foot to the other. "I just wanted to know what to watch out for, so I can keep an eye on everyone." T'Challa smiled and gestured to a chair across from him.

"Have a seat, Samuel," he commanded. With a sigh of defeat, Sam sat. "Unfortunately, that is not a question I can answer. The manifestations are wide-ranging, and usually particular to a person. However, if you tell me what you have been experiencing, I can tell you if it is likely due to exposure to the meteor or not." Sam sat silently for a minute, debating with himself whether or not to confess to the king.

"It's only been since that last mission," he admitted finally. "I had a raven talk to me. Thought maybe it was just some fluke thing, a mind trick, maybe stress related. But then, since we've been back… I walk outside and I can understand them all. I can hear the birds talking to each other. Sometimes, if I say something… they answer back. I've spent the last few days trying to figure out if I'm crazy or not." T'Challa grinned.

"I am not qualified to determine your level of mental stability," he commented mildly. "But I can reassure you that this does indeed sound like a result of being near the meteor."

"Okay, great." Sam let out a sigh of relief. "So what's the cure?" T'Challa raised his eyebrows and inclined his head slightly to the side.

"The cure?" he repeated. Sam nodded.

"Well, yeah, you guys must have a cure," he reasoned. T'Challa shook his head.

"When the gods give you a gift, you do not try to cure it," he explained, nonplussed. "You have been blessed, Sam. Better to learn to use your ability well than to try to take it away." Sam's eyes widened as he processed this. Before he could ask any more questions, there was a sharp knock at the door, and then it opened before T'Challa could even bid the person enter. Nobomi ducked through the door, eyes wide, expression urgent. Both men were already on their feet, and T'Challa stepped out from behind his desk.

"Sam, I thought we agreed that I would be the one to discuss it with him," Nobomi protested, her tone betrayed. "It is not for you to reveal…" She trailed off, looking from T'Challa's perplexed expression to Sam's desperate one. T'Challa was standing facing her, his back to Sam, who was frantically waving his hands, making cutting gestures at his throat and shaking his head. "…our surprise... plans," she finished lamely.

"Sam was just telling me how he has been Blessed," T'Challa informed her. Her eyes widened slightly as she glanced over the king's shoulder at him. "Evidently, you thought he was discussing something else. Something that also involves you. Is there something you wish to tell your King, Nobomi?" She bowed her head.

"Yes, my King. The truth is, Sam and I have been… seeing each other in secret," she confessed. T'Challa's eyebrows rose.

"Quite secret, evidently, to have escaped the notice of even the palace rumor mill," he commented. Clasping his hands behind his back, he looked from Nobomi to Sam and back again. "Nobomi, do you recall the vows you took when you became Dora Milaje?" Nobomi's spine straightened, chin lifted, dark eyes snapping.

"Of course, my King," she bit out, now not meeting either Sam's eyes or T'Challa's.

"Then you also recall that your loyalty must remain to Wakanda and her King above all else," he reminded her. She nodded. "And yet, you have found your… desires leading you in a different direction."

"Yes, my King," she acknowledged, a catch in her voice. T'Challa walked in a slow circle around both of them.

"I cannot officially condone such a relationship," he said meditatively. "The Dora Milaje are selected as potential wives for the king. It would not do for me to ignore one of them pursuing another man, regardless of what my personal feelings might be." Nobomi stole a furtive glance at him, surprise in her eyes. The faintest hint of a smile danced in T'Challa's eyes. "You are a fine woman, Nobomi. You are strong. You are worthy. Sam is a good man. As you have succeeded in keeping your relationship a secret up until now, I would be willing to continue to turn a blind eye to it. However, it must remain secret. If word got out to the rest of the court, I would have no choice but to follow the traditional punishment for those who break their vows." Nobomi swallowed hard.

"I… see that I have a choice to make, my King," she said hoarsely. T'Challa signaled his agreement with a curt nod of the head.

"And I will not keep you from it." He dismissed them both with a wave of his hand. Nobomi bent forward, arms crossing her chest in the traditional Wakandan salute.

"Thank you, my King," she said softly, then strode out of the room, pausing in the doorway to look Okoye appraisingly in the eye, gauging if the other woman would keep her secret. Okoye lifted her chin and pointedly looked away. Nobomi took a deep breath and continued down the hallway, long legs moving quickly in ground-eating strides.

"Nobomi, wait!" Sam called, jogging to catch up with her. She stopped and whirled towards him, her expression intense.

"Keep your voice down," she warned. "Is this how you keep a secret?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who spilled the beans to the king," Sam said defensively, and immediately regretted his words. Nobomi took a step closer to him.

"I have let my heart lead me astray," she said softly. "It is not befitting one of my rank and station to – "

"Oh, so that's how it is?" Sam returned, fighting to keep his voice low. "You've just been slummin' it with the outsider?"

"Do not," Nobomi said warningly, and then her voice faltered, her eyes suspiciously bright. "I must choose. Between my country, my future, my reputation, my family, my culture, my king… and my heart. Do not make this harder for me than it already is, Sam." Sam set his jaw and swallowed hard.

"No. I'll make it easier. It's been fun, Nobomi. But I guess this is where we go our separate ways," he said, turning and walking away from her.

"Is that really what you want, Sam?" she called after him. He stopped and half turned back towards her.

"I'll never be more than just your dirty little secret," he said harshly, shaking his head. "If that's my alternative, then yeah. This is better. For both of us." She looked at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then with a short jerk of her head, she turned and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (and storyline) was written well before Black Panther came out. I had decided to approach the Dora Milaje as similar to religious vows, only their loyalty was to the king and the kingdom, not to a religion. It made sense in my mind, since they were originally picked as potential wives for the King in the comics. In the Black Panther movie, (at least) one of them was married, so perhaps that assumption was inaccurate. Or perhaps the rules change once the King marries.


	40. Transformations and Recriminations

Whether from her recent brush with death, her new blindness, a result of the Wakandan treatment, or a combination of all three, Nyssa's nights had become very colorful, filled with vibrant, intense and sometimes disturbing dreams. She awakened feeling less than rested, still disoriented. It took her a moment to investigate her surroundings: the warm and comfortable bed beneath her that was not her own, the soft hums and whirrs of hospital equipment, the hurried presence of the nursing staff. Wakanda, she was still in Wakanda.

She raised herself up in bed, looking around in amazement. The nurses walking purposefully in the hallway were technicolor blurs, dedication coloring their footsteps. In the room next to hers, an older woman lay, her vibrant life force muted by the slowly encroaching undertones of death. Nyssa closed her eyes experimentally, but the images persisted. Her eyes remained functionally useless, but she was no longer trapped in darkness. Somehow, the energy and emotions she had been able to sense for most of her life had now been given visual form in her mind's eye. Intrigued, she felt for the edge of the bed and swung her legs over, slipping down slowly until her feet found the floor. Standing at the edge of the bed, she focused her attention ahead of her, then expanded it to the sides, behind her, even above and below. Most of the people around her were sleeping, their bodies awash in the surreal flickering of dreams. It must still be night.

Walls made no difference with her new sight. In fact… Nyssa put her hands out and took hesitant steps forward until her fingers touched something solid and hard. Her hand floated before her in her new vision, an ill-defined blur of violet. The walls remained invisible to her, as was the floor beneath her feet. Beyond her hand, pressed against the smooth surface, she could see a row of slumbering Wakandans, their essence glowing in varying degrees of intensity.

"What are you doing up?" The nurse, Mncedisi, rushed to her side, her form streaked blue-green with concern and surprise. Warm, careful hands rested on Nyssa's shoulders, guiding her away from the wall. "Let's get you back to bed. There it is, right in front of you." Nyssa placed her hands on the still-imperceptible sheets, and obediently climbed back in. "Your blankets are a mess," Mncedisi fussed, straightening the covers and tucking them in around Nyssa like a mother tucking in her daughter.

"I can see something," Nyssa said softly. Mncedisi paused, rippling astonishment.

"That can happen, sometimes," she said cautiously. "When the eyes stop working, the brain can start to make its own images." Nyssa nodded slowly.

"I know that can happen, but I don't think that's what this is," she said steadily. "It's not just… random images or hallucinations."

"I will let the doctor know," the nurse assured her. "For now, you should go back to sleep." Nyssa nodded and lay back down, but didn't close her eyes. She was fairly certain there would be no more sleep for her tonight.

* * *

The communal breakfast tradition had continued, though Bucky had not been in attendance the past few mornings. He was somewhat startled when he came out the next morning and saw all the people gathered there. The Bartons nearly took up an entire table on their own, leaving only room for Mutt and Felsma at their table. There were scarcely any seats left in the room. Steve signaled him and pointed to the sole empty seat, beside him. Bucky sat down. Across from him, Natasha was seated next to Wanda, and he squelched the urge to tell her she was sitting in Nyssa's spot. On the other side of Wanda, Hertz was silently shoveling food into his mouth. From the way his eyes flickered from person to person around him, he wasn't particularly comfortable being around so many people yet. Bucky could sympathize. Wanda kept glancing at him as if wanting to say something, but remained mute. Sam was also much quieter than usual, pushing the food around his plate with his fork, occasionally taking a bite.

"Are you guys always this talkative?" Natasha broke the silence with sarcasm. "A girl can barely hear herself think around so much noise."

"Sorry, just tired," Sam mumbled. "I had a really loud bird outside my window this morning." Natasha raised an eyebrow at him as if not sure whether he was joking or not, but didn't pry further.

"We are all a bit preoccupied," Wanda commented. "There is a lot to think about."

"I suppose," Natasha said. "Kind of seems like an easy choice, though, doesn't it? I mean, this is pretty much paradise. Why not stay?"

"I dunno," Scott said soberly. "I was still hoping I could go home at some point. See my daughter again." There were murmurs of agreement around the table.

"I've got nothing tying me here," Sam offered, dropping the pretense of pretending to eat and setting his fork down.

"I mean, the schools here are amazing," Clint joined in from the other table. "But I'm not sure I'm ready to think of this as a permanent option."

"Our presence here has caused a lot of problems," Steve admitted. "If we became citizens, I'm not sure it would solve all of them." He turned to Bucky. "What do you think, Buck?" Bucky was caught with a mouthful of eggs, and chewed deliberately and swallowed before answering.

"I think I'm still ready to follow that little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight," he said softly. Steve stared at him for a moment, then looked down at his plate as a grin spread across his face. Bucky half-smiled, then cleared his throat and continued. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, actually. I remember… other places like Nessun Luogo being discussed. They didn't watch what they said around me. Figured I wouldn't remember anyway." They hadn't seen him as a person, really, but this wasn't the time or place to get into that. "I just keep coming back to the possibility that there are others out there, still alive, still trapped, just as lost as I was. I feel like… I should do something about that." A life saved, a life redeemed, might make up for a life he'd taken. He wasn't sure that was how it actually worked, but it felt right.

"If we stay here, we can't bring back any more people," Steve warned.

"I know," Bucky replied. "But where else would we go?"

"There are 78 countries that didn't sign the Accords," Natasha reminded them.

"Yeah, but would you want to live in any of those countries?" Scott commented. "I mean, aside from Switzerland, they're mostly war torn, poverty stricken… Believe me, I looked into it."

"Still better than a floating prison in the middle of the ocean," Sam muttered.

"Hey, maybe we could find our own island to live on for awhile," Clint suggested.

"What, just lounge on the beach and eat coconuts all day?" Laura said dryly. "Sounds nice in theory, but it would take a lot of work to set up a community on an island with nothing else. No schools, no infrastructure, no hospitals, no housing…"

"Yeah, I get the idea," Clint said defeatedly.

"Plus, if they ever figure out where we are, a small island might be difficult to defend," Steve pointed out.

"Well, we still have a little time before we have to come up with an alternative," Natasha reminded them. "He said we have until the end of the month." They lapsed into silence. Wanda glanced at Hertz, then at her friends.

"I… might have an idea," she declared. "But it will take me a few days. Can any of you keep an eye on Hertz while I'm gone?" The teen shot her a dirty look.

"I'm right here," he said irritably. "I can take care of myself."

"Can you stay out of trouble?" Wanda asked him pointedly. He didn't reply, but glared angrily down at his plate. A ripple of electricity zapped from his scalp to his ear. Wanda sighed. "I was going to take him to talk with Nyssa today. Maybe one of you could…?" Steve and Bucky exchanged glances, and Steve nodded.

"Do what you need to do, Wanda. He can spend time with us for a few days," Steve reassured her. Wanda gave him a grateful smile, then stood and left, her expression introspective.

"Hold on a minute," Sam interjected. "Who exactly are you including in that "us"? I'm not sure I'm prepared to babysit a superpowered…" His voice trailed off as Hertz turned his glare on him.

"I don't need a babysitter," Hertz growled, then stood up and abruptly left the table. Steve sighed and stood.

"I'll go talk to him," he volunteered. Nobody else argued for the opportunity. Steve left. Bucky turned his attention back to his plate, casting a few furtive glances at Natasha when he thought she wasn't looking. Evidently, he failed, because she tossed him an exasperated look after the fourth glance.

"Have a problem, Barnes?" she asked coyly. He shook his head, but gestured with his fork to her head.

"Just still getting used to the hair," he muttered. "It just seems… wrong." She raised an eyebrow at him.

" _You know I change my hair frequently_ ," she replied in Russian. He shrugged.

" _Yes, but always red,"_ he argued. Her eyes widened briefly.

" _So you do remember me,"_ she said triumphantly. He raised his eyebrows.

" _I remember everything,"_ he retorted flatly. She stared at him for a moment, her expression changing from gleeful to uneasy.

"Everything?" she repeated in English. He stood, finished with his breakfast.

"Everything," he confirmed, and turned and left the room. He was heading down the hallway, but paused when he heard quick, quiet footsteps behind him.

"James, wait!" Natasha called. He half-turned to see her running after him. She stopped several meters away, looking apprehensive. "I don't have a good excuse, but in my defense, I did come back. I came back… to explain everything. But they'd already wiped you again, and stuck you back in that damned freezer tube."

" _We were different people then, Natalia,"_ he said, falling easily back into the Russian they'd used together so long ago. " _Let's leave the past where it lies."_

" _All of it?"_ Nat asked hesitantly. Bucky considered his response gravely.

" _Da,"_  he replied, and continued on his way. A few strides later, he paused, seized by a familiar dread. Stepping to the side, he braced his hand against the wall to steady himself just in time for the cascade.

"… _twelve ready for transport…" "…. results of the experiments were encouraging…" "…deemed too dangerous, so we had to move them to a more secure facility…" "…culled the group down to thirty-two…" "… seventeen miles inside the Taymyrsky Dolgano-Nenetsky District…"_ Memories of conversations overheard rippled through his consciousness, overlapping. This time, all of them seemed connected, all related to what he had been pondering. It was almost as if some little gremlin in his brain had gathered up all he could remember on the subject, and then dumped it into his awareness. There was no wave of emotion for him to drown in, this time. He opened his eyes again to see Nat watching him curiously.

"You okay?" she asked. He nodded, and turned around, pointing himself in the direction of his quarters.

"I just… remembered that I forgot something," he said by way of explanation.

"Well, there's the understatement of the century," she muttered under her breath. He rolled his eyes, but otherwise didn't respond. He had to get back to his notebooks and write everything down while it was still fresh.

* * *

Nyssa looked up as two people appeared in her doorway. Hertz was colored in with bright defiance, clouded with discouragement and uncertainty. Behind him, Steve was a tie-dye medley of frustration, compassion and hope. Her new vision cued her in to where people were standing and where to look. A burst of surprise sent cheerfully colored tendrils through Steve as she looked over at them.

"Hey, Nyssa, how are you feeling?" Steve asked. Nyssa appreciated that he didn't jump right away into the reason they were there. She smiled, including Hertz in the expression.

"Surprisingly well, all things considered," she admitted. In the US, her hospital course would probably have been weeks long, between her brain surgery, septicemia, organ failure, delirium – if she had been able to live through it all. Here in Wakanda, it was a different story. They were already talking about a possible discharge by the end of the week. After that… she cut off that train of thought and brought herself back to the present moment. "How are you doing?"

"So far, so good," Steve said optimistically with a sidelong glance at Hertz. He frowned in her direction. "Are you… able to see us?"

"In a… manner of speaking. Not in the traditional sense," Nyssa clarified. "But I can tell you have a lot on your mind. Both of you." She reached a hand out towards the teenage boy. "Hertz, do you remember me?" He stared at her a moment before recognizing her, and took a couple steps closer.

"You were there with us, at the end. You tried to escape and break us out, but we all got caught again," he said bitterly. Nyssa sighed.

"Sadly true," she agreed. "There were a few failed attempts. But now you are no longer a captive, and freedom is a strange feeling for you, isn't it?" Hertz hesitated, but then nodded diffidently.

"I'm not really free, though," he pointed out sourly. "I keep getting into trouble." Nyssa chuckled.

"We can be free of many things," she said, "but generally not the consequences of our choices. That is part of being human and living among other people. You will get the hang of it eventually." She beckoned him closer, and he took another step or two. "Hertz, if you could have anything, do anything, what would it be? What would that freedom look like?"

"I'd find my mom and rescue her," he said immediately. Nyssa nodded.

"Where would you look?" she asked. "You were very young when you were separated. Do you remember her name? What she looks like?" Hertz stared at her for a moment, his jaw set, and then looked away as tears began to well up, but could not hide the waves of guilt and self-loathing from her. Nyssa gestured for him to come closer yet. "If you like, I can help refresh the memories you are worried about losing." He looked back at her, astonishment rippling green like lightning through him.

"How?" he asked incredulously.

"It's a gift of mine," she explained, "kind of like yours is to manipulate electricity." He snorted.

"Some gift," he said bitterly. "All it's gotten me is locked up and in trouble." Nyssa nodded.

"That has been true so far," she agreed. "Hopefully, it won't stay that way." She offered her hand to him again. "Memories are tricky sometimes. You haven't betrayed her by forgetting. But I can help you remember again." He stood still for a moment, hope flickering around his edges, then hesitantly reached out and put his hand in hers. She closed her eyes – a useless gesture now, really, since it had no effect on her sight, but somehow it still helped her concentrate. "Think of whatever you can remember," she encouraged Hertz. He hadn't much left after years of medical procedures and isolation. Memories of feelings, of her holding him in her arms, of whispered endearments when the guards weren't paying attention. Nyssa latched onto these and went deeper, searching for the fading echoes of the rest. Images, conversation, some of them locked away behind the wall of hurt he harbored. A few gentle nudges, and suddenly he gasped as the memories came flooding back. His mother playing with him in their tiny, shared cell, holding him close, telling him whispered stories in the darkness. The guards taking her away, bringing her back, taking him away, bringing him back, until one day they took her, and she didn't come back. They came for him and he went eagerly for once, thinking they were bringing him to her, but instead they took him somewhere far, far away. He saw her face again, standing out vibrant where it had begun to fade, wide blue eyes and white-blonde hair like his. His chest constricted. Nyssa made comforting noises. He sagged against the bed.

"Gretchen," he whispered. "Her name was Gretchen."

"And you had a name, too," Nyssa reminded him. "They wouldn't let her name you officially, but she still gave you a name. Felix. She hoped it would bring you luck." Silently, he nodded, tears trickling down his cheeks. Nyssa took his other hand in hers as well. "I think, if you ask him, that man over there might be willing to help you find your mother," she whispered. Felix glanced over at Steve standing in the doorway, trying not to intrude on the private moment. Tentatively, he walked over to the man formerly known as Captain America.

"Do you think you could help me find my mom?" he asked doubtfully. Steve's eyes widened and darted over in Nyssa's direction for a moment before he answered.

"Finding people hasn't been my strong suit, but I'll certainly help you look," he agreed. "Something tells me Bucky will be on board, too." Relief and hope flooded through the boy.

"It isn't going to be like the television shows they let you watch in the facility in Germany," Nyssa warned. "These things take time, and the endings aren't always what we imagined they would be. You will have to be patient." Taking a breath, Felix nodded.

"I've waited nine years already. I guess I can wait a little longer," he sighed. "But not too much longer."

"And no more shockwaves while you're in the city. Deal?" she ventured. Sheepishly, he agreed. "Although…" Nyssa's tone turned thoughtful. "It occurs to me that you've spent an awful lot of time being told what you can't do. It might do some good to be able to explore what you  _can_  do."

"Do you have a suggestion for that?" Steve asked.

"I think what he needs… is a project," Nyssa suggested.


	41. Longing

It wasn't very long after Steve and Felix left that there was another knock at Nyssa's hospital door, and the entire Barton family trouped in. Nate climbed up on the bed to snuggle with Nyssa, while Lila proudly presented her with something she'd been working on.

"See, you wear it like a bracelet, but it's got sensors in it, so when you get close to something, it'll vibrate on that side," she explained. "Kind of like an invisible version of those canes that blind people use."

"Wow, that's impressive," Nyssa declared. "What's the range on it?"

"It'll give a little tingle when things are five feet away, and get stronger as you get closer," Lila clarified. "Gabi helped, too."

"Well, thank you both so much," Nyssa said with a smile. "I will definitely give this a try."

"You're welcome," Gabi said shyly. "I like the thing on your head. It's pretty."

"Thank you," Nyssa responded, reaching up and touching the soft material. "One of the nurses gave it to me and showed me how to wrap it. It's a traditional Wakandan headscarf."

"It's very colorful," Lila pronounced. "Orange and yellow and pink and purple…" Nate reached up and tugged on it.

"Can I weaw it?" he asked. Nyssa caught his hands playfully.

"Not right now, because I'm wearing it," she said in a silly voice. "But there's another one over there you could play with." She pointed to the chair, where another length of vibrant material was draped over the back. Lila caught it up and handed it to Nate, who draped it over his head and wound the fabric around his face. Giggling, Lila went to help him.

"Not like that, Nate, like this," she protested, laughing as she twisted the fabric around his hair. Nyssa grinned and looked over at Clint and Laura, who were standing on the other side of her bed. Cooper was lurking in the corner, trying to seem disinterested in what was going on as he took in every detail. Grace was asleep in Laura's arms.

"You two seem exhausted," she noted. Laura yawned.

"The baby still seems to have her days and nights turned around," she sighed. "And the girls have been in sleepover mode the past two days." Both of the adults exchanged weary glances.

"Well, I am under doctor's orders to avoid all stimulants," Nyssa said ruefully. "Apparently they can affect the treatment. So there is a perfectly good coffee maker back in my quarters that is currently unused. If you guys want it, you can have it. You need it more than I do."

"It isn't one of those single-serving machines, is it?" Clint asked suspiciously, although he had perked up at the mention of coffee.

"I guess that depends," Nyssa said with a grin. "Do you consider sixteen cups to be a single serving?"

"There are days," Clint replied with a smile and a shrug.

* * *

Bucky paused in the hallways outside of Nyssa's room, noting that it seemed quite crowded at the moment. After a few minutes, the Bartons exited, Lila chattering excitedly to Gabriele.

"I'm so glad that Auntie Nyssa is going to be okay!" She exclaimed. "Isn't she the nicest ever?" Cooper snorted and rolled his eyes at his sister.

"There you go with the 'Auntie' thing again," he groaned. "You realize that none of these people are actually related to us, right?" Lila sighed in exasperation.

"You're so stupid sometimes," she said in a huff. "She's not blood family. She's heart family."

"Hey, now," Clint chided. "Let's not be calling anyone stupid." Their conversation grew fainter as they continued down the hallway, further away from Bucky. He refocused his attention to Nyssa, now alone in her hospital room. As he entered, she turned her head towards him and smiled warmly.

"Hi there," she greeted him. He could tell from the shadows on her face that she was exhausted, but covering it well.

"Do you want company right now?" he asked hesitantly.

"Only if it's you," she said with a smile, settling back into her bed. He sat down in the chair beside her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked with concern.

"Aside from being tired, pretty good," she said reassuringly. "And their treatment to restore my vision, well…." Bucky perked up.

"It worked?" he asked.

"In a way…" she hedged, glancing down at the blanket over her feet.

"It's certainly doing something." Bucky looked over at the doorway to see Kuhle standing there. She smiled broadly as she entered the room. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

"I did say I don't respond predictably to these kinds of treatments," Nyssa reminded her. The doctor nodded and pulled up a three-dimensional display of a brain that took up much of the free space in the room.

"Are you able to see this?" she inquired. Nyssa shook her head, then frowned speculatively.

"Unless… can I borrow your eyes?" she asked Bucky, holding out her hand shyly. Not quite understanding, but trusting her nonetheless, he put his hand in hers. He felt a slight pressure in his head, just behind his eyes, and then his vision went double for a moment before it resolved and the feeling faded, leaving behind only the engulfing sense of her presence. He directed his attention to the presentation at the center of the room, so Nyssa could see it.

"Your optic nerve was severed here, as it crosses the optic chiasm," Kuhle began explaining, highlighting a section on the display. "We had hoped the nerve might regrow there. That was the optimal outcome. However, whoever severed the nerve also cauterized it, and the nerve endings here remain unchanged. But, we have been monitoring activity in this section here." She highlighted a different part of the brain, situated in the center. "We do not have a name for this structure, as I have never encountered it before. This is how it appeared at the start of your treatment." She gestured, and the image transformed, sending out tendrils of light, weaving new connections with the parietal and occipital lobes. "This is how it has changed now."

"Well, that explains a lot," Nyssa murmured.

"So I am very curious," Kuhle continued, eyes alight. "What exactly are you seeing now?"

"As near as I can tell, I now have a visual representation of what I used to be able to sense in a more abstract way," she said slowly, gesturing with her hands. "I can see living things, people, but not their physical bodies. I can see the energy of their vital force, the colors and patterns of their emotional state…" She fell silent a moment, lost in thought, then smiled somewhat distractedly. "It's quite beautiful, actually. I can't quite describe it. It's a little like trying to describe a rainbow to a blind man."

"The rate of new connections seems to have decreased and stabilized this afternoon, so I suspect the effectiveness of the treatment has plateaued," Kuhle continued. "From a medical standpoint, there is not much else we can do for you here. I am afraid that whatever impairments remain, you will need to adjust to, rather than recover from." Nyssa took a deep breath and nodded.

"I suspected that myself," she admitted. The doctor nodded solemnly.

"Were you to stay in Wakanda, we do have resources that could be helpful to you," she suggested, but Nyssa shook her head.

"Thank you for the offer, but this was never meant to be a one-way trip," she sighed. Kuhle nodded.

"You still have a long journey ahead of you, in more ways than one," she noted. "In my professional opinion, travel should wait at least a few more days, until you have more of your strength back. And I would appreciate you staying close by a little longer in case you have… a delayed reaction of some sort." Nyssa nodded her agreement.

"Thank you for all that you've done," she said sincerely. "If I had been anywhere else, I might not have survived. You guys might consider exporting some of your medical technology. It could save or dramatically improve millions of lives, and you'd make some serious money, too." Kuhle's expression became thoughtful.

"I will mention it to Shuri," she said.

* * *

Once Kuhle set the wheels in motion, it didn't take long before Nyssa was walking out of the hospital wing and headed back to her own quarters, Bucky at her side. He had the bag containing her belongings slung over his shoulder, and her fingers interlaced through his. He slowed his gait beside her. Usually he moved as if he were, well, on a mission. He was in no hurry for this particular journey to end, so he didn't mind the more leisurely stroll. There were things he wanted to say, but as they passed guards, staff and servants in the hallway, he decided he'd rather have those conversations in private. He didn't think to make small talk until they were nearly back to her room, just content to be in her presence. He finally realized, rather belatedly, that he probably should say something.

"Sorry I'm not more… conversational," he apologized. Nyssa tilted her head up towards him and smiled.

"It's fine," she assured him. "It was a comfortable silence. I know we both have a lot on our minds." She opened her door and went inside, but did not release his hand, so he followed gamely behind her.

"Here are your things," he said, holding the bag out to her. She took it with a slight grimace.

"Ah, yes. My dress." She peeked inside the bag and made a face. "It's a shame, really. It was my favorite dress."

"Why is that a shame?" he asked. "It looked great on you."

"Yeah," she sighed. "It's a shame, because I'm probably going to have to burn it." He opened his mouth to ask why, but then decided against it. He could appreciate the reason without her spelling it out for him.

"So you've got a few days before you can leave," he said, changing the subject. "Do you have any plans?" Nyssa exhaled, wilting down onto the couch.

"Honestly, I could probably sleep for a month," she admitted.

"I've tried that," he replied dryly. "It's not as fun as it seems like it would be." She glanced at him with a startled chuckle.

"I suppose that's true," she said. He sat down on the couch next to her.

"We might be leaving soon, too," he mentioned. "T'Challa gave us until the end of the month to decide if we want to stay here in Wakanda as citizens, or go elsewhere. Judging by most of the conversations, most of us are leaning more towards leaving."

"Where will you go?" Nyssa asked, her brows knitting in concern.

"We haven't really figured that part out yet," he admitted. "We've ruled out deserted islands, Accord countries, and Siberia. Wanda said she had an idea, and then vanished." He leaned in closer, running the fingers of his right hand along her cheek, tracing the delicate lines of her face. "I was thinking maybe… wherever we decide to go, you could come with us. We could use… someone like you." Nyssa had closed her eyes at his touch, and was sitting very still, as if frozen. He brushed his lips against hers softly, his hand slipping around the back of her neck to pull her in closer. She made a quiet noise somewhere in between a sigh and a sob, and he felt her hand on his chest, gently but firmly pushing him away.

"I wish I could," she whispered wistfully. "I have too many responsibilities to turn my back on all of them. Not just with Phoenix Rising, but with everything else going on back home." She frowned contemplatively. "Character is what you know about yourself. Reputation is what others think about you. I may not deserve my reputation, any more than you deserve yours, but I can leverage it to help the cause, bring attention to the injustices going on because of the Accords."

"I kinda figured you couldn't stay," he admitted. "But you can't blame a guy for trying." Nyssa smiled sadly at him.

"No," she agreed. "In fact… I owe you an apology." Bucky frowned, mystified.

"For what?" he asked. Nyssa glanced down, pulling her legs in and crossing them in front of her.

"As I was recently reminded, there are… professional guidelines for relationships between therapists and clients, and they're pretty clear. It is generally not recommended to get involved with clients socially. Certainly not supposed to date them. Absolutely not supposed to sleep with them. And definitely not supposed to fall for them." She looked back up at him hesitantly. "I do love you. And I won't apologize for that. But it was… improper of me to get involved in the first place."

"Are you saying you regret it?" he asked cautiously, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat. It eased only slightly as Nyssa shook her head.

"Only the parts that hurt you," she sighed. He cupped her face with one hand.

"Pain and I, we're old friends by now," he pointed out. Her face twisted ruefully for a moment.

"Maybe so, but I never wanted to add to it," she replied. "And even if there wasn't the... questionable ethics involved, my life is about to get very complicated again. You don't need to deal with that. Right now, you need stability, support and friendship. Not relationship stress, chaos and drama." She faltered a moment, then reached behind her neck and unclasped the necklace she had been wearing since he gave it back to her. "You can have this back, if you like." Pooling the stone and the chain into her palm, she offered it to him. He curled her fingers back around it and covered it with his hand.

"Keep it. As a thank you. And something to remember me by," he urged her. It was a new feeling, wanting someone to remember him. He'd spent so long trying to be invisible and forgotten. She withdrew her hand with a crooked smile, holding the closed fist over her heart.

"I don't think I need a necklace to remember you," she responded quietly. Taking in a shaky breath. "Damn the circumstances." She thought for a moment, then peeked up at him. "Two years." He blinked and frowned slightly.

"Two years?" he repeated blankly. She nodded.

"Two years is the recommended amount of time between having a therapist-client relationship and a romantic relationship. In theory, it's enough time for the power dynamic to reset and any transference/countertransference to fade." Bucky wrinkled his forehead at her.

"Are you asking me to wait for you?" he asked bluntly. She let out a short huff of laughter.

"No. That wouldn't be very fair to you, would it? No, I want you to live, and be free to explore whatever you want with whoever you want. But if, in two years, you still think of me, if you're still inclined… consider my door open." She looked down, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "Until then, however, it's probably best if we don't see each other anymore." He sat, frozen and staring at her for a long moment, his jaw working, then he nodded and stood.

"I see." He took a few steps towards the door, then stopped, half-turned back towards her. "Thank you, Nyssa. For everything. Steve may have saved my life, but you helped me feel alive again." He noticed he was shaking, and quickly left. The line spoken by the new namesake he'd chosen drifted randomly through his mind.  _Now I know I have a heart, because it's breaking._ He'd half-known that it was coming. She'd never promised him anything different. So why did it hurt so much? She had never been his to keep.

A wave of anguish and despair blindsided him, and he stopped in his tracks as he realized it hadn't come from him.

* * *

She'd heard the door close behind him as he left in a maelstrom of grief, anger and hurt, and it was like she was a marionette with all the strings cut. Crumpling down into the couch, she released the tide of emotions she'd been so careful to control since she'd been back in possession of her senses. It was too much, too much. Tomorrow, she would pick the pieces up and start again, but right now she was falling apart, and there was nothing for it. She sobbed her grief into the couch cushions. She wept for the darkness of her recent trauma and torture, for Marcus' death, for the pain and struggle of those they had rescued, for the uncertainty of her own future. There had been one bright spot in her life, and she had just deliberately pushed it away.

She felt his presence draw nearer, and thought it was her mind playing tricks on her, lending truth to fantasy, but then he picked her up and drew her into his arms. She collapsed against his chest, unable to stop the deluge of tears. He held her silently, while she blubbered and cried, her small frame wracked with heaving sobs. Slowly, gradually, the storm passed, leaving her hollowed out and depleted. Still she remained, enfolded in his wordless embrace.

"Are you trying to get me to change my mind?" she asked raggedly. If that was his intent, it was oh so very close to working. His arms around her felt like the only place in the world she belonged, and she wanted more than anything to stay there. He didn't answer right away, and she sensed he was still trying to figure it out himself.

"No," he answered finally. "Just returning a favor." She exhaled a shaky chuckle and summoned what strength remained to sit up.

"If anyone tries to tell you that you aren't a good man, James Barnes, you tell them… that they are full of shit," she instructed him, her voice still rough. He let out a short bark of surprised laughter, but disbelief also colored his countenance.

"Even if I'm the one saying it?" he returned wryly. Despite herself, she smiled.

" _Especially_ if it's you," she answered, punctuating her words with a sniffle. He didn't reply, just regarded her silently for a moment, both of them wishing things could be different.

"I better go," he said after several long moments. The longer he stayed, the more effort it took for him to leave. Mutely, she nodded, looking away. He stood and walked away, exiting her life, at least for the foreseeable future. She sagged against the couch and closed her eyes, but no more tears came. Instead, she fell into exhausted sleep.


	42. Rebuilding

A relatively short jog several miles from the palace was the greens, a field set up with various obstacles that could be moved around to imitate various terrain. It was most frequently used for drills and strategy by the Dora Milaje and Wakanda's troops. Part of it was dedicated to a shooting range that included targets that popped up or flew into the air, engineered to push a soldier's limits and reaction time. This was where Bucky found himself an hour after leaving Nyssa in her apartment. There was a strange comfort in practicing his most lethal skills. This, he knew. This, he was good at. The smooth draw, aim, discharge were second nature to him, the feel of metal against his palm a familiar friend. The course was advanced enough that it was challenging even for him, and it took him three runs before he was satisfied with his time and accuracy through it. He was preparing for a fourth trip to see if he could beat his time when he heard a sudden noise behind him. Still in hunting mode, he whirled, leveling his rifle at a very surprised Sam, who immediately put his hands up, eyes wide.

"I didn't come here for a fight," Sam protested. Bucky took his finger off the trigger and moved his weapon slightly, so it wasn't pointing directly at Sam. A strange noise over his left shoulder made him turn again, firing off a round at the object flying through the air towards him before his brain caught up to identify it. A blur of brightly colored feathers dropped to the ground, and Sam made a noise of protest. "Aw, come on, man. What'd that bird do to you?" Bucky sighed and finally let his weapon drop.

"Wrong place, wrong time," he muttered. Sam scoffed.

"Well, I'm sure that will be very comforting to the lady bird and nest of eggs he left behind," Sam said derisively. The birds in the trees surrounding them were growing louder and louder, squawking angrily. A bird with bright plumage similar to the one he'd shot landed in a branch near him and started scolding. "You see?" Sam said pointedly. The bird screeched. "I know, I know, that's what I'm trying to tell him." The bird responded with angry noises, and Sam held his hands up. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." Bucky eyed him strangely.

"Are you… having a conversation with that bird?" he asked in disbelief. Sam's eyes widened briefly before assuming a disdainful expression.

"No, of course not. It's not like I can understand what they're saying or anything. How ridiculous would that be? I'm just a little… upset by the senseless violence. You should probably do something about that itchy trigger finger. Maybe switch to decaf." His words came out too fast, nearly tripping over each other. Bucky eyed him dubiously, but decided not to argue with him at the moment.

"You realize I've killed people, too, right?" he asked dryly. Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"That just proves my point," he said, squaring his shoulders. "But anyway, that's not why I was looking for you. They finally returned my car. Or what's left of it, anyway. And I remembered that you said you'd help me fix it. So I've got it in the shop, and I figured maybe we could start working on it. Unless you have plans with Nyssa or something…" Bucky shook his head.

"No," he sighed. "There aren't going to be any plans with Nyssa. Not anymore." Sam's eyebrows raised, and he looked first relieved, then concerned.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said sincerely. Bucky shrugged, forcing an air of nonchalance he didn't really feel.

"It's for the best," he reasoned. "She'll go home, where it's safe. Staying with us is inherently dangerous." He'd tried telling himself that multiple times already, reasoning out different scenarios where her life would be in danger that she would now avoid. Maybe after another dozen times, he'd start to believe it.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Probably is for the best. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, though." Bucky shot him a look of consternation, wondering if Sam had also somehow developed Nyssa's talent for seeing feelings.

"So, yeah. I'll help with your car," he said, tracking the conversation back to more comfortable waters.

"Great," Sam pronounced. "We're going to have more help this time, too."

* * *

"More help" would make the work go much faster, but also made the little shed seem quite crowded. Steve and Hertz were in attendance, though the boy kept insisting his name was Felix now. Scott was also on hand, ready to offer his electrical engineering expertise. The five men stood around the remains of Sam's car, sizing up the task before them. The undercarriage had been ground zero for the explosion, and much of it was charred and melted together. The rubber on the tires was vulcanized and brittle. The body of the car, with its high-tech paint job, miraculously seemed mostly unscathed, but the interior was scorched, not just structurally unstable but with a distinct burned smell that likely would never fade. The engine block was stained with leaked fluids, visible cracks snaking out of two of the cylinders.

"Where do we even start?" Sam groaned, mostly to himself, but the others shared his sentiment.

"I think we can reuse most of the body," Scott said earnestly. "We'll need a new frame and chassis, though. I don't know why you guys didn't use more of the local tech. They have some fantastic options."

"Oh yeah?" Sam commented with interest. The first build, he'd tried to stick with the original plans, keeping it vintage, but now that it was a smoking heap, he wasn't sure he wanted to redo everything the same way all over again. Scott nodded eagerly.

"Yeah. I have a few ideas. We could make it fly. We could make it amphibious. We could actually fit it with shields and a defensive system," he ruminated. Felix's eyes were growing wider and wider.

"Could we make it do all of that? At the same time?" he asked in astonishment. Scott shrugged.

"It'll take a lot of modification, but I'm sure we could figure it out," he replied. Crossing the room to the large screen mounted on the wall, he accessed the menu and switched it into engineering mode. Pulling out a small tablet, he started inputting parameters, and they watched as an image of the car formed on the screen.

"I didn't know it could do that," Sam commented. Scott chuckled.

"I didn't know half the things these screens can do were even possible until they showed me," he admitted. Working furiously on his tablet, he took out the tires, undercarriage and engine. The next hour became a brainstorming session as they discussed the different modifications they could do and how they could integrate it all together. They finally came up with a plan that Sam was happy with, and Bucky, who was itching to stop standing around talking and get back to actually doing something, picked up one of the tools hanging on the wall of the shed.

"I guess we can start stripping away the unusable parts, then," he said practically. "Hey, Felix. Want to learn how to use a plasma cutter?" He grinned as the boy's eyes grew to the size of saucers.

* * *

Steve joined Bucky and Felix in removing the scorched and burned parts of the car, learning right alongside the teen. It was a little odd for Bucky to suddenly be the one in authority, but he was nothing if not adaptable. Felix was very enthusiastic about learning to use the power tools, especially once he realized he was the only one who could use them without connecting them to a power source first. Together, they sorted through and found quite a few salvageable parts, setting them aside in case they could be used later. They stacked the body panels along the wall, the still-shiny pieces awaiting a new incarnation.

Meanwhile, Sam and Scott went on a field trip to the main military salvage yard, where old and obsolete planes, ships and other vehicles sat, long unused and forgotten. Shuri had given them permission to take what they wanted from them, as nothing there contained Wakanda's newest innovations. As they combed through the ship cadavers, Scott was excited as a kid in a candy store, his eyes growing wider each time he discovered another piece of tech and figured out what it did. They returned to the shed overflowing with Wakandan hand-me-down technology, Scott grinning like an idiot. He made everyone stop what they were doing while he went through and explained everything.

"….and then this little beauty can launch a shockwave that will knock out any sensitive equipment in a ten-mile radius." Scott grinned and pointed at Felix. "It's kinda like you, but on steroids." Felix raised an eyebrow at him.

"I can  _control_  the magnitude of my shockwave," Felix said emphatically. "The biggest one I had on record when they were testing me was measured at 500 megajoules per cubic meter, and it took out all power within 35 miles, even with the insulation they'd set up." Scott's jaw dropped, eyes wide. Steve looked impressed.

"You can generate that kind of power?" he asked. Felix shrugged sheepishly.

"Not exactly, not by myself. To get those kinds of numbers, they hooked me up to current. I think that day, they had me going at 5 kiloamperes." Scott blinked at the boy and shook his head.

"That should've fried you deader than a doornail at one hundredth of that amperage," he pointed out. Felix looked grim, staring down at the floor.

"Well, it wasn't exactly enjoyable," he admitted. "But it doesn't affect me the way it does most people. I'm not sure why. Something they did to me." Bucky winced, the memory of his own experiences with electrocution echoing in his head.

"All right, Tic Tac," Sam jumped in, deciding that was enough for the night. It had gotten dark an hour earlier, and they had done more than he expected for the first day. "I think that's enough for tonight. We're ahead of the game for tomorrow. Why don't we meet back here at nine, after breakfast?"

* * *

Bucky stayed a little later than the others, reorganizing the tools in preparation for the next day. Fireflies danced along the landscape as he trudged back towards the palace. Something drew his gaze upwards, and his heart skipped a beat, then dropped as he spotted the familiar figure out on her balcony. She had one hand on the railing as she stretched forward, other hand reaching ahead of her and one leg extending behind. Letting go of the railing, she bent the leg, reached back and grabbed her foot, pulling it even further as she leaned forward slightly. She wobbled, then steadied. Letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, he forced himself to look away, and stared at the ground the rest of the way into the palace.

Nyssa felt the sudden attention, felt the rush of hurt and resentment, and had to concentrate very hard not to fall over in the middle of her natarajasana. She had awakened at sunset feeling stiff and sore, and suddenly craving her yoga routine. She had opted to move it to the balcony because the warm evening breeze and background noise of night birds and cicadas were far preferable to the stifling silence of her quarters. The guard rail of the balcony was also helpful. It took some adjustment, trying to do her usual exercise routine without any visual cues to help with orienting her body. Her muscles remembered the movement, but her brain thought she was trying to do them in midair, despite the firm surface beneath her feet. She nearly fell twice before she begrudgingly started to use a light touch on the railing to help with balance and positioning. When she became unexpectedly aware of Bucky watching her, she swore internally and pushed back against the sudden guilt. She hadn't done this purposely to rub it in his face, she reminded herself. She had as much right to be out on her balcony as he had to be walking across the royal grounds. Her insistence did little to assuage her remorse, however, and she decided it might be better to keep her yoga sessions inside for the remainder of her time in Wakanda.

* * *

Bucky was early the next morning. He hadn't been able to sleep much, and as the sky started to lighten with the pre-dawn glow, he had decided to make his way back to the shed and begin assembling useable scraps of metal together, roughing out a frame. Steve arrived about an hour later, still wearing his jogging apparel. He looked a little surprised to see Bucky already busy working.

"You're up early," he commented. Bucky glanced at his friend, then looked around to see if anyone else was coming yet.

"Where's the kid?" he asked. Steve shrugged.

"Scott took over for the night. Based on their conversation last night, they probably stayed up late discussing options for upgrades to the car," he replied. Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"When we're done with it, it might be a little misleading to call it a car," he noted. Steve chuckled.

"You're not wrong," he said. "So, you don't have anything better to do so early in the morning? I'm surprised you're not spending more time with Nyssa." Bucky sighed and looked away, turning his attention back to the scrap metal.

"Not spending any time with Nyssa now," he explained. "At her request." He glanced back at Steve. "We're not… seeing each other anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Steve said. "I know how much you cared for her." Bucky shrugged.

"It's for the best," he repeated once more. "She'll be leaving soon. Going home, where it's safe." It had almost become a mantra, something he kept telling himself. Maybe one of these times, he would even believe it. "She deserves better than someone like me, anyway." Steve gave him a look of consternation, but before he could make any comment, Bucky changed the subject. "So, how long have you and… Natasha been, ah, working together?" Steve shrugged.

"She was an Avenger before I was," he explained. "Haven't seen her much in the past year, but it's good to have her around again. We're just co-workers. And friends."

"And you trust her?" Bucky asked carefully. Steve paused, considering, then nodded.

"She's saved my life. Multiple times. I know trust is sometimes an issue for her, given her past, but she's worked hard to prove herself. Why?" Bucky shook his head.

"When I first saw her, before we came here, I knew I recognized her, but I didn't remember how or why. Now I have… clearer memories, and what I remember, well… it's not good." He could have chosen stronger words, but it was clear Steve felt some bond with her, and it wasn't his place to ruin that. Not until he knew for sure. Steve shrugged.

"I know that she used to do a lot of things that she regrets now. People can change, Buck. I would think that you of all people would understand that." Bucky considered that for a long moment, and was about to respond, but they were interrupted by the arrival of a very enthusiastic Scott, a tired-looking Felix in tow. Sam arrived just a few minutes later. The day soon shifted to planning, designing and fabricating. The project was a welcome escape for Bucky, keeping both his hands and his mind occupied, though his mind still drifted often when he wasn't directly engaged. When they were done for the day, he deliberately took the long way around to avoid the side of the palace that Nyssa's room was on, slipping into a side entrance and cutting through the servant's quarters.

* * *

Natasha returned to her quarters well after sunset. She had been spending a lot of time catching up with the Bartons, helping Laura with the kids while she took care of the baby and rested, talking with Clint about everything that had happened while he was gone. It was gratifying to see how Lila had blossomed, even despite what she'd been through. Cooper had even started to show her some begrudging affection, letting his cool teenager persona slip for just a little bit. Seeing them thriving was a balm to her soul. She had spent the past couple weeks thinking they were all dead, killed by Clint gone mad. It had been hard for her to believe, but that was the story the news was telling, and she hadn't had enough information to figure out what really happened. To find them all still alive and well in Wakanda had been a huge relief. She still scolded Clint for not getting word of the truth to her, even though she understood why he hadn't. It was amusing to her that they had been living like royalty in Wakanda, even though that was evidently about to come to an end. She crossed her room to the balcony and leaned her elbows on the railing, gazing out over the city. Wakanda was one of the most beautiful places she'd been to – and she had been to many places. She smiled, then turned and went back into her room. She changed into pajamas and washed up, preparing for the night's sleep. She didn't bother turning any lights on. She was comfortable in shadows and darkness.

"You said something about an explanation." She startled at the voice that came from the darkest corner of her quarters. Turning on a lamp, her eyes widened slightly as she saw Bucky leaning back against the wall, arms folded over his chest.

"How long have you been there?" she asked shakily. She hadn't noticed anything when she first came in. The idyllic setting had lulled her into a false sense of security, and she had dropped her guard. She cursed herself briefly and promised it wouldn't happen again. He smiled thinly at her.

"You don't owe me one, but maybe it will clear something up for me. I keep trying to figure out what your plan is this time," he said, not answering her question. "But I haven't worked it out yet. Six years is a pretty long con, even for you. And I don't know what benefit you'd get from it, now that he's not Captain America anymore." Natasha shook her head.

"I don't do that anymore, James," she assured him. "I'm not working for them anymore." He raised his eyebrows at her, but said nothing. She sighed and sat down on a chair. "Look, I can explain everything. It's not an excuse, but it's an apology, and that's the best I can do." She gestured to the other chair. "Will you sit and listen?"

"I'll stand," he said shortly. Natasha cupped her hands over her mouth, gathering her thoughts.

"Of all the red in my ledger, it's you I regret the most," she admitted softly. "It was my mission to test your loyalty. They wanted to see if you could start being given more independence, left longer to your own devices. They had me partner with you as a temporary assignment. Just until they could determine whether your loyalty could be swayed." She smiled thinly. "It didn't take long, once your memories started trickling back. You started talking to me about escaping. And yes, of course, I reported it. That was my mission."

"And all the talk about wanting to be with me, about you finally seeing how evil they were, about your feelings for me… that was all part of your mission, too? Just lies, to see if I'd fall for them?" he asked sourly. Natasha swallowed but met his gaze directly.

"That was what they trained me to do," she said simply. "I was a spy. They wanted intel on you."

"And I believed you." He sounded disgusted, but she wasn't certain whether it was directed at her or himself.

"And I'm truly sorry for that, James," she apologized. "There are many things I've done that I regret. I'm sure you know what that's like." He looked away from her for the first time. She kept talking. "I reported you. I didn't know what they would do to you. They just told me to report back, and I did. I came back, but you were already back in cryo. And I looked for you again, much later, after Clint helped me see that maybe I could be… more than they taught me to be. I thought maybe I could help you escape, make it up to you. But they kept you so well hidden, even I couldn't find you. Until that day in Odessa. Even after you shot me, I wasn't sure if you'd forgotten me, or if you remembered and were still angry." He kept staring at the floor, mulling over the new information she was giving him.

"So how can I be sure you're not on another mission now?" he asked pointedly. "Getting close to Steve, earning his trust, waiting for the right moment to stab him in the back…"

"If I were going to do that, I've had plenty of opportunities." Natasha's voice was suspiciously tight. "I don't blame you for being suspicious, after I betrayed you, but please, give me a chance. If you're going to judge me, judge my more recent actions. I helped you in Germany, and it certainly wasn't in my best interests to do that." He regarded her for a long moment.

"That's true," he finally said meditatively. "And you have Steve's trust. I'm not saying you have mine. I won't work against you, but I'll be watching."

"So I need to make sure to check all the dark corners before I change my clothes every time?" she asked dryly. The faintest hint of a smile played around his lips.

"It's not a bad habit to get into," he pointed out. "And it's nothing I haven't seen before." She gave him a hard look. "No, I'm not about to start lurking in the shadows everywhere you go. I just wanted to make sure that you're not going to do something to hurt Steve." Natasha shook her head.

"I wouldn't do anything to harm Steve. He's my friend. There aren't many people I can say that about." She stood up and took a tentative step towards him. "And for what it's worth, not everything I said to you was a lie. I did have feelings for you, James. And now I almost feel like… maybe we have another chance…" She took another hopeful step, but he fixed her with a glare, and she froze.

"Not today, Natalia," he said coldly. "Possibly not ever. I didn't lie to you then, and I won't now. Maybe if we'd met under different circumstances, we could have been good together. But as I've recently been reminded, I don't need that kind of drama in my life. And I still can't trust you." She wilted, but he seemed unmoved, brushing past her on his way out of her room.

"Don't you believe in second chances?" she called after him bitterly. He paused at the door, and she noticed the glint of metal at his hip where he'd tucked away a 9mm pistol.

"Of course I do. That's why you're still alive." Then the door closed, and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to the WinterWidow shippers out there. I know they were a couple in the comics. But there are distinct differences in their backstories in the MCU versus in the comics. In the MCU, they have made Natasha much younger, and there's no evidence that she has any superpowers/serum-enhanced abilities. She's a highly trained assassin, and deadly, no doubt. Bucky is also kept on a much tighter leash in the MCU than it seems he was in the comics. There's no evidence that he trained anyone in the Red Room. It seems doubtful to me that they would have let him pursue a relationship with anyone aside from someone they'd groomed when they were wiping his memory, torturing him and putting him back in cryogenic storage every time he started to remember things. However, it is pretty clear that Natasha knew him from before, based on several lines from the Captain America movies (talking about how she's looked for him, and of course, "You could at least remember me.") This was my attempt to reason a way they might have known each other. Natasha was a different person back then, loyal only to those who had trained her, and Bucky had no sense of self aside from what they programmed into him. It didn't seem likely to me that they could have had a healthy, honest relationship given their circumstances.


	43. Mercies and Farewells

The next morning at breakfast, Natasha slid a thin file across the table to Felix. Bucky eyed the paper, looking from the woman to the teen and back again.

"What's this?" Felix asked, opening the file.

"There were four different sites doing the type of experiment you described. We know where you came from, because it was in the files at Nessun Luogo," Nat explained. "They erased identifying information, gave you all numbers instead. But I traced the numbers of the others who were at the same site at the same time as you were. They were transferred to three other locations. One of them has to be where they took your mother." Felix's eyes widened, and he shuffled through the papers. His fork lay on his plate, forgotten. After a moment, he stood, still staring at the papers, and walked back towards the rooms. The door closed behind him, then opened again.

"Thank you," he called out, then shut the door again.

"Thanks, Nat," Steve echoed with a smile. "I know that really means a lot to him." Nat shrugged.

"Just doing my part," she replied easily. "We're all on the same team, right?" She sipped nonchalantly at her juice, pointedly not looking at Bucky.

"Of course," Steve said, eyeing her as if wondering why she had made the comment. Bucky didn't join in the conversation, instead draining the rest of his own juice. It was a blend of some of the local fruits indigenous to the area, and had taken some getting used to, but he found that he had acquired a taste for it.

"Can't go on any more rescue missions until we've figured out where we're going to live," Sam pointed out. Nat nodded.

"I know, but we can at least do research and come up with a plan for when we do, right?" she replied.

"Speaking of which," Steve mentioned, "has anyone seen Wanda yet? I'm not sure how long she was going to be gone. Or where she was going." The others exchanged glances and shook their heads.

* * *

It was another two days before they got their answer. The city perimeter alarms began going off, and they all looked skyward as a massive shadow wreathed in red blocked out the sun. The colossal object moved slowly across the sky, finally lowering into a large inland lake, where a curious crowd had gathered. The water that it displaced flooded over the shores. Wanda touched down on the ground, eyes red-rimmed even after her power dissipated.

"Well?" she asked, gesturing to the metal behemoth she had brought back with her. "Can we use this?" In another life, it had been an ocean liner, but decades at the bottom of the ocean left it rusted and corroded. Steve eyed it dubiously.

"It'll need a lot of work," he hedged. Wanda nodded.

"I assumed that," she replied. "It's been under millions of gallons of saltwater for decades. But the bones of it are still there. We can rebuild it for our purposes. Then we can live in international waters, where we don't need to worry about the Accords. And a ship is more defensible than an island." A slow smile spread across Steve's face.

"You know, I think it's so crazy, it just might work," he proclaimed.

* * *

The next day, they lined up outside the throne room with the rest of those seeking audience with T'Challa. Steve, Sam, Wanda and Bucky had opted to go and make an official request of his Highness – one last favor in allowing them to build a place they could leave Wakanda in. Bucky also had his own request that he had nervously practiced in the privacy of his own quarters, but he hadn't mentioned it to the rest.

T'Challa looked surprised as the group approached him, resplendent in his royal garb. Most of their discussions had taken place in private, not in front of the entire court. Steve stepped forward, speaking for the group.

" _Your Highness, we have decided it is for the benefit of everyone if we were to leave Wakanda_ ," he explained in Wakandan, as was traditional for formal requests of the king. " _In order to facilitate this, we are requesting assistance in completing one final project_." King T'Challa raised his eyebrows.

" _I assume you are referring to the shipwreck that is currently sitting in the middle of Lake Umqala,"_ he said dryly. The small group exchanged somewhat guilty looks. T'Challa sighed.  _"How much time will you need for your preparations?"_ Steve and Bucky traded glances.

" _That will depend largely on how much assistance we have,"_ Steve admitted. " _The more aid you can lend us, the sooner we will be able to leave."_ T'Challa considered this gravely.

_"Very well,"_ he said finally.  _"You may have your assistance. I will consult with Shuri as to exactly what and how much we will lend you. Are you willing to extend your contract with Wakanda to cover the additional expense we are assuming on your behalf?"_ Steve nodded, but Bucky stepped forward.

_"I am,"_ he affirmed, then launched into the speech he had been practicing privately the past few days.  _"If it pleases Your Highness, I would also like to assume the debt incurred by Steve Rogers for my sake. I will pay my own debts."_ To his right, Sam took a step ahead of Steve, pulling even with Bucky.

" _I am also prepared to swear fealty to you, Your Highness,"_ he proclaimed.  _"Wakanda took us in when we were in need of refuge, and we will be forever in your debt."_ Behind them, Wanda stepped forward as well, bowing slightly and then crossing her arms in a Wakandan salute, showing solidarity and willingness to assume her part of the debt as well. King T'Challa smiled.

" _A debt shared among friends is a much lighter load,"_ he noted. " _I will expect your loyalty for a period of three years each. Wakanda has much wealth, and does not need your coin. But there are dark times coming, and Wakanda may need your help in other ways. If she calls, will you answer her?"_

_"We will,"_ they chorused. T'Challa made a royal gesture.

" _So let it be,"_  he decreed. A murmur ran through the assembly. Satisfied, the three of them filed to the sidelines, but Bucky remained before the king.

" _You did not address my request,"_  he stated firmly. T'Challa steepled his hands together, peering down at Bucky.

" _Taking into account the help that both of you have already lent to Wakanda, I consider that debt settled,"_ T'Challa said decisively. Bucky looked for a moment as if he wanted to argue. T'Challa chuckled. " _Does my decision contain too little suffering for your taste?"_ he asked lightly.  _"I have already said this is not a purgatory to burn away your sins.."_ He made a dismissive gesture, and Bucky knew the topic was no longer open for discussion. He made his way over to where Steve, Sam and Wanda were waiting for him. T'Challa whispered something to Okoye, who bowed and saluted, then exited the hall. A loud murmuring filled the throne room.

"What, did you think you were the only one ready to sacrifice yourself for Steve?" Sam muttered out of the side of his mouth. "Because you're not."

"It's not a competition, Nevermore," he hissed back. Sam gave him a startled look.

"What did you call me?" he demanded.

"Nevermore," Bucky repeated, a smirk creeping over his face. "Isn't that what the birds say?"

"Come on, man, I told you…" Sam began, but both Steve and Wanda turned and shushed the two of them. Sam shut his mouth but folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. Bucky couldn't suppress a smirk. Both of them watched as the doors of the hall opened, and a hush fell over all present. T'Challa stood as a tall, dreadlocked man strode in, arms bound, surrounded by Dora Milaje.

" _Khuselwa, you stand before your king accused of treason."_ Ramonda, the king's mother, did not often attend the court any longer, but it seemed everyone was in attendance today. She stood on the dais, eyes blazing as she pronounced his charges. " _Have you anything to say in your defense?"_ Bucky straightened, looking over at the man. This, then, was the man responsible for the attack on the city, for Nyssa's kidnapping. He tensed, but felt a gently restraining hand on his arm. He glanced over at Steve, who shook his head slightly. Bucky made a face at him; he wasn't about to jump in now, when justice was about to be served. Khuselwa held his head high, looking completely unapologetic.

" _You say treason,"_ he replied, spitting the last word as if it tasted foul in his mouth.  _"What I have done, I did for Wakanda. I did it to open your eyes to the treachery of the Outsiders. You would have them living among us, invading our borders by the king's own invitation. I fear this would be Wakanda's downfall. For generations, we have kept the outside world out, and we have thrived. You would undo what all those who came before you worked so hard to preserve!"_ King T'Challa looked grim.

" _You colluded with Wakanda's enemies. You endangered the lives of the royal guard, Wakandan soldiers, Wakanda's citizens, guests under my protection, and facilitated the theft of several millions worth of Vibranium, all to try to change my mind,"_  he pointed out. _"You may claim your intentions were pure, but your methods certainly were not."_  He moved his gaze from the prisoner and looked around the entire chamber, his gaze encompassing anyone who might share Khuselwa's sentiments. _"Wakanda's time in the shadows is over. Whether we like it or not, we are now a player on the world stage, and we cannot move backwards. We will not go back."_ The whispers in the hall were becoming louder, and Sam elbowed Bucky in the ribs. Bucky glanced at him in annoyance, but Sam wasn't looking at him. His attention was directed at the open doors of the hall, where Okoye was standing beside a smaller, paler figure. Nyssa stepped hesitantly into the room, and the murmurs died away.

"Dr. Taylor, thank you for joining us," T'Challa said, his voice echoing in the now-silent hall. The switch to English was jarring on Bucky's ears after adjusting to the Wakandan dialogue. "As you were the one most directly harmed by Khuselwa's actions, I wanted you to weigh in on his fate. As a traitor, his life is forfeit. His head is yours, if you wish it." She did not reply right away, crossing the room slowly, sightless eyes staring straight ahead even though Bucky was sure she was aware of and analyzing everyone present in the room. He wasn't entirely certain whether he wanted her to notice him or not.

As she drew closer to the traitor, Nyssa began unwinding the colorful headwrap, letting it fall around her shoulders and exposing the scars still visible through her close-cropped hair. The angry pink healing skin around her neck and wrists bore silent witness to her recent injuries. Khuselwa watched her warily, aware that his fate now rested squarely on her pale, delicate shoulders.

" _You think yourself a courageous man, Khuselwa,_ "Nyssa finally responded. The surprise in the hall was palpable as she chose to reply in Wakandan. Even Bucky was impressed; her pronunciation and accent had greatly improved since he had last heard her speak it. " _But it was fear that drove you to this decision. You were convinced that Outsiders were dangerous, and so you found one that was, in order to prove a point._ " She paced in a wide circle around the prisoner, leaving extra room for the Dora Milaje. " _Obviously, there are some that are treacherous, that would take advantage of Wakanda and seek to steal its secrets. But do not paint us all with that same brush. Most Outsiders are not so different from you. We all want to be safe, to be healthy, to have a purpose, to find our joy, to live without fear. It is when we forget our common humanity that people get hurt."_ She stopped directly in front of Khuselwa, her eyes seeming to bore right through him, and he had the grace to look chagrined. After several long moments, she turned to face the throne. " _Your Highness, I would not presume to tell you how to conduct Wakandan affairs, but for my part, I have no wish for his head. Taking his life would not undo the damage he has done."_

_"You would spare him, then?"_ T'Challa asked in surprise. Nyssa spread her hands and nodded.

" _Perhaps if he knows that he owes his life to an Outsider, he will be less likely to condemn the next one he meets,"_  she reasoned. T'Challa regarded her for a moment, then turned his attention back to the traitor.

" _Khuselwa, you have committed treason, and so your life must be forfeit,"_ the king announced. Khuselwa paled slightly, dropping his gaze to the floor as T'Challa continued.  _"However, as she has seen fit to show you mercy, I will follow suit. Your execution will be stayed for now. Your death will be in name only. Your property will pass to your heirs, and we will hold funeral rites, your loved ones will mourn your passing. And you will leave Wakanda, never to return, upon pain of death. You will live among the Outsiders that you so feared, and it will be by their will if you should prosper."_ Khuselwa shuddered, dropping to one knee.

" _Thank you for your mercy, my King,"_ he whispered. T'Challa nodded.

_"May you always remember that every breath you take, from this moment on, is yours only because this Outsider wished it so,"_ he admonished the traitor, gesturing to Nyssa. The Dora Milaje escorted the man from the throne room amid the susurrus of the astonished crowd. Nyssa crossed her arms over her chest, bowed deeply to T'Challa, then turned to leave the throne room. As she drew even with where Bucky stood, her step faltered, and she hesitated, although she did not turn her head towards him. He saw her take a deep breath, then continue. He dropped his own gaze to the floor, wishing yet again that they hadn't had to say goodbye.

* * *

Nyssa was shaking by the time she got back to her quarters. It wasn't so much the physical exertion that was taking its toll on her, but the weight of her recent decisions and the emotional impact of confronting one of the men responsible for her ordeal. She did appreciate T'Challa's gesture in including and consulting her, but that hadn't made it much easier. She also had not expected Bucky to be present. It had taken a great effort not to run to him, remembering wistfully how it felt to sag into his chest, letting him fold his arms around her, allowing his strength to buoy her up when her own was flagging. Tempting as it was, that was no longer an option for her. She had been spending as much time as possible out of her room the past few days, tracking his distant presence in order to give him the space they both needed. She had taken the opportunity to explore the palace, adjusting to using the bracelet that Lila had made for her to help her navigate the halls and doorways. More often than not, she had ended up back in the hospital wing, just to chat with the nurses who had been so kind to her, or down in the kitchen talking with the serving staff. They were glad to see her, happy to talk with her, and often fed her as well. She had not yet worked up the nerve to venture very far outside, still not quite trusting her bracelet to navigate the fast-moving streets.

With a sigh, she sat down on the couch to relax for a few minutes. In a few short hours, her flight would be leaving, taking her away from Wakanda and back home. Her belongings were already packed and ready for the journey. She should eat something, she reminded herself. She hadn't had much of an appetite recently, but she needed to eat frequently if she wanted to gain back the weight she'd lost while being held prisoner. She considered standing up and going over to the kitchenette to see if there was any food left.

She was startled awake by a knock on the door and realized that the driver had arrived to take her to the airport already. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not eaten before she had fallen asleep on the couch. There was nothing for it, now. Gathering her suitcases, she slowly walked over to the door and left the room that had been her home for the past several weeks behind. She almost made it to the entrance where the car was waiting before she saw familiar forms behind her.

"You weren't really going to leave without saying goodbye?" Wanda asked bluntly. Lila ran forward and threw her arms around Nyssa. Nate, Gabi, Clint, Cooper and Laura holding Grace looked on with varying degrees of gratitude, sadness and nostalgia.

"Are you mad at us? Is that why you've been avoiding us?" the girl asked. Nyssa dropped her suitcases and put her arms around her.

"No, I'm not mad," she sighed. "I've been resting after being so sick, and… I guess I figured I've done enough damage."

"That's usually how I know when it's time to go, too," joked Clint. Wanda stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around more," she apologized. "I guess I've been preoccupied with our plans." Nyssa smiled sadly.

"I understand completely. Everyone has their own struggles right now. Mine don't automatically take precedence," she observed.

"No, but that doesn't mean they don't matter," Laura argued. "And I'm not sure what you mean by damage. You've been so helpful to everyone." Nyssa sighed.

"I hope so. I'm going to miss you guys." There were hugs all around, which diminished the weight on her heart but didn't completely alleviate it.

"Take care of yourself, Nyssa," Clint said affectionately. Nyssa nodded.

"That's the plan. You, too. Need to have you in top condition for saving the universe and all that," she joked lightly. Nate wrapped his arms around her leg, and she ruffled his hair affectionately. The driver, waiting by the door, cleared his throat, and Nyssa sighed as she picked her bags up once more. "I'm sorry, I have to go or I'll miss my flight. Thank you all for everything. I'm so glad I got to meet all of you." There was a chorus of goodbyes that followed her out the door, wrapping around her as she settled into the car for the first leg of her long journey home.


	44. Out of the Frying Pan

The framework for a hastily-assembled dry dock took Shuri about a day to build, and they suddenly found a number of native volunteers willing to help with their work. Shuri had embraced the challenge of helping them design something that could be livable for months on end but also nearly indestructible, easily defensible, and well-hidden. Plans were drawn, parts assembled, and they were off. Sam's former car was left abandoned for the time being as they tackled the bigger project. As the sun set on the second day, they all went to bed with a feeling of anticipation, planning to begin the actual work the next day.

* * *

Nyssa's plane touched down in JFK International Airport roughly 37 hours after her first flight had taken off from Wakanda. Her head was throbbing, her stomach was sour, and she found herself wishing her bed was right there in the terminal so that she could collapse into it. This was the shortest part of the trip, but somehow it still seemed impossibly far away. Hefting her carry-on and forcing her feet forward, she disembarked and began scanning the crowd for Alana, who had promised to come pick her up from the airport. She didn't sense Alana anywhere, but…. She suppressed both a grin and a sigh as another, very familiar presence caught sight of her, locked on and made a beeline. Before she could even raise a tired arm in greeting, she was swept up into a fierce hug and swung in a circle.

"So you are alive, thank the Lord," Seraphina Grey breathed as she set Nyssa down. "I was starting to wonder."

"How did you get my flight information?" Nyssa asked bluntly. "I only gave it to Alana, and she wasn't supposed to give it out, not even to you." She was too tired to be quite as diplomatic about it as she probably should. From the exasperation that tinged Sera's relief, she imagined the woman was rolling her eyes.

"Oh, believe me, it was like pulling teeth to get it. I even threatened her with the thumb screws," Sera replied breezily. Despite her fatigue, Nyssa smiled. Knowing Sera, she probably wasn't joking about that. "So why didn't you want your best friend knowing when your flight was getting in? Or have I been demoted to only third best friend with visitation privileges on alternate Saturdays?" She was pulling Nyssa along by the hand, weaving expertly through the crowd and heading towards the luggage carousel. For once, Nyssa allowed herself to be pulled. The sooner she could get out of this airport, the better.

"No, you're still my best friend. I was going to go see you tomorrow, surprise you. Since this was technically a business trip, I thought it would be better if an employee picked me up," she explained lamely. The excuse sounded less convincing spoken aloud. "I also didn't want too much of a fuss made at the airport," she added. She would try to explain later that, just in case there were less-than-friendly people waiting to greet her, she didn't want her best friend getting pulled into all that mess.

"Here's your bag," Sera announced helpfully, grabbing the large suitcase and pulling her towards the exit. The cool evening air and familiar smells of the city washed over her. Setting her friend's suitcase down, Sera clasped her by the shoulders and held her at arm's length, her persona starting to tinge with concern. "What happened to you? You don't look like you were on a tropical vacation. You're pale and you've lost weight." She shook her head. "Only you would  _lose_  weight on vacation."

"I'll tell you everything, I promise," Nyssa sighed, glad for her decision to wear a hat for her arrival. "Just… not here." There were too many eyes on them, too many ears nearby. Sera nodded.

"Okay. You wait here. I'll go get the car." There was a burst of excitement as she left, leaving a bemused Nyssa sitting on her suitcase next to the curb. Nyssa contented herself watching the passersby, vivid and colorful in her new sight, and weaving stories in her head as to where they were going, where they had been, and what was going on in their lives. Several long minutes later, Seraphina returned, moving quickly while seated in a car Nyssa couldn't see. That was something that might take awhile to get used to. Walls did nothing to block her sight, but on the other hand, everyone was Wonder Woman in her invisible jet. She took a step forward, and her searching hands found the smooth metal, slid over to find the door handle. Seraphina got out to throw the luggage in the back, and Nyssa settled into the passenger seat. This didn't feel like the car she was used to Sera driving. This one even still had the new car smell. She glanced to her left as Sera sat down in the driver's seat. The engine sounded different, impossibly quiet. Nyssa almost forgot the car was running until they accelerated.

"New car?" she asked mildly. "Or is this one just a loaner?" Sera snorted, her delight shining through the feigned annoyance.

"I just got it day before yesterday," she said proudly. "It's a brand new Tesla Model S. My reward to myself for making partner." Nyssa's jaw dropped, and Sera chuckled. "That's right, you're looking at the newest addition to Desrosiers, Bell, Ayers and Grey, Attorneys at Law."

"Partner? _"_  she repeated, channeling all the surprise and excitement she could muster into the words. "Sera, that's great! I know how hard you've been working for that. And you totally deserve it."

"You're not wrong," Sera said self-assuredly. "But you know what I didn't deserve? You ghosting on me." Nyssa sighed. She had known this conversation was coming.

"I know, and I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I know how much you hate when people do that to you, and how it triggers your abandonment issues…" Rather than being mollified, Sera's irritation flared.

"Oh, no, no, no," she admonished. "You are not making this about me and my issues. You are not psychoanalyzing me. This isn't about me at all. This is about you going from sending three or four emails a day to crickets, and then randomly sending " _I love you and your friendship means the world to me"_ four days later. Nothing else, no explanation, no response after I replied, nothing. You went from talking about some mystery man you were falling for to sounding like you were about to eat a gun. I mean, I know you have a flair for the dramatic, but were you  _trying_  to give me nightmares?"

"No, you're right, and I'm sorry," Nyssa replied. "I definitely wasn't suicidal, but I wasn't sure I was going to make it." The car stopped, and from the movement around her she guessed they were sitting at a traffic light.

"Wasn't sure you were going to make it?" Sera repeated. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Rather than replying, Nyssa pulled off her hat, exposing the cropped hair and new scars on her head. Sera didn't respond, but her shock and concern skyrocketed. Nyssa tilted her head down.

"I was kidnapped," she said quietly. Sera still sat in stunned silence. Cars started to honk behind them, and Nyssa half-smiled. "I'm guessing the light's green."

"You're  _guessing_  it's green?" Sera repeated.

"Yeah, um, because of this, my eyes don't work anymore," Nyssa explained, touching the scars along her hairline.

"You're  _blind_?" Sera's voice was an octave higher than when they had started the conversation.

"Well, yes and no," Nyssa hedged. "Um, there's a few things I haven't told you. And a lot happened while I was out of town."

"Evidently," Sera commented acerbically. "Okay, change in plans. We're not going to your place, we're going to mine. You don't keep alcohol stocked at yours, and I can tell this story is going to require a chaser."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Sera ushered Nyssa over to a stool at the island in her kitchen. The clink of bottles told her the other woman was raiding her usually well-stocked liquor cabinet.

"Okay, so what level is this story on?" Sera asked. She set a bottle down with a clink to Nyssa's left. "Wine?" Another clink, slightly to the right of the first one. "Rum?"  _Clink._ "Whiskey?"  _Clink._ "Vodka?"  _Clink._ "Tequila?"  _Clink._ "Are we talking absinthe?"  _Clink._ "Or Bacardi 151?" Nyssa raised her eyebrows.

"What, no Everclear?" she joked. Sera sighed and grabbed a bottle.

"151 it is, then. Don't worry, I'll mix it with Coke."

* * *

"Wait, wait, wait a minute," Sera slurred slightly, waving her hands in the air. "So let me get this straight. You were someplace, name redacted, working with a client, name redacted, and then you got kidnapped by someone, name redacted, and they took you somewhere  _redacted_  and carved up your brain, making you blind, because you can read minds and they wanted you to use your power for evil for them? And then  _redacted_ came and rescued you, brought you back to  _redacted,_  where they fixed you up as best you could and sent you home? And now you have some weird vision where you can see people by their energy, but you can't see anything else."

"That about sums it up," Nyssa said with a sigh, taking another sip of her ice water. "You seem less shocked about the mind-reading thing than I expected." Sera shrugged. She was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol; Nyssa could feel the inebriation radiating off of her, and it turned her presence murky.

"It explains a lot, actually," she confessed. "Why you were so interested in the Accords, beyond just wanting to know for your clients. How you always seem to know exactly what's going on with people. How you're never surprised by gossip, even though you hate it. How you always knew exactly what I wanted for my birthday, even if I never said anything about it to you."

"And you're not mad I never told you before?" Nyssa asked. Sera screwed up her face in serious thought.

"I mean, maybe a little," she admitted. "But in this political climate, I can understand why you didn't. What I'm still trying to figure out is where your mystery man fits into all of this. Can we call him something different than mystery man? I keep wanting to shorten it to MM, but I know you didn't date Eminem…" Nyssa chuckled.

"Sure, um, let's call him Jimmy," she said, wincing internally and sending a mental apology to Bucky. She wasn't sure what he would think of that nickname, but there had to be a reason he didn't chose the moniker. Sera laughed out loud.

"You dated a Jimmy?" she said disbelievingly.

"Not his real name," Nyssa reminded her.

"Right, right," Sera replied with a shake of her head. "Is that for his protection, your protection, or my protection?"

"Yes," Nyssa answered. "Say, with this new partnership, are they still going to let you do  _pro bono_ cases? It always seemed like you got more personal satisfaction from those, even though they aren't as lucrative."

"I can do up to 25% of my caseload," Seraphina confirmed. "I insisted on having it in my contract. You're right. The corporate cases might help pay for my Tesla and my Bernhardt bedroom set, but it's the social justice cases that really help me sleep at night." She reflected on that for a moment, then pointed an accusing finger at Nyssa. "But you're trying to change the subject. I want to know all about your… Jimmy." She giggled again, finding the name amusing, but Nyssa lowered her head, concentrating on the cool glass she held between her hands.

"It doesn't matter," she said softly. "It's over now. I couldn't stay, and he couldn't come with me." Sera stopped laughing abruptly, shifting over to the stool right next to Nyssa.

"Wow, you really fell hard for him, huh?" she asked. Nyssa didn't answer, not trusting her voice at the moment. Sera attempted a comforting pat on the shoulder, though it was a little more forceful than it normally would be. "He probably wasn't worth it, then. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that." Nyssa raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"Probably not too many fishing for a blind woman with a questionable past who can't have babies and always knows when they're lying," she said dryly.

"Hey, heeeey," Sera returned, waving her finger at her friend. "Don't you even start that. You would be amazing for anyone lucky enough to have you. If I weren't as het as they get, I'd date you myself."

"We could do dinner. I'll even let you pay, Miss Partner," Nyssa tossed back. "But don't expect me to put out."

"Oh, so like a normal Friday girl's night out?" Sera chuckled. She was slumped over in her seat.

"I guess you could say that." Between her jet lag and the waves of intoxication Sera was throwing off, Nyssa was having a hard time staying awake. "You are in no condition to drive me home, but I need to sleep. I'm gonna crash on your couch."

"Nooo, no." Sera staggered towards her and grabbed her shoulder. "Come sleep in my bed. I want to be able to see that you're safe when I wake up after nightmares where I watch you die and can't do anything about it."

"I'm sorry I worried you," Nyssa said again, penitently.

"You're forgiven," Sera said magnanimously. "Not like you did it on purpose, anyway." She flopped down on the bed, not bothering to change or even disrobe first. Within moments, her breathing had slowed, and a slight snoring sound emanated from her still form. With a halfhearted chuckle, Nyssa grabbed one of Sera's t-shirts out of her dresser – she knew this apartment so well, she could still find her way around blind – and quickly changed into it before slipping into the luxurious softness of her friend's bed. Almost as soon as she got horizontal, her body finally gave in to sleep.

* * *

Bucky double checked the safety harness around his waist, welding torch in hand. Before him, hovering over the newly-polished and reinforced frame of the ship, a thin metal panel hung in midair before him, glowing red. Several more of these floated around the skeleton of their vessel. About fifteen feet down on the dock, Felix stood with welding rod in hand. They had discovered that the welding torch was somewhat redundant, as he could channel enough energy to heat the rod and weld with his bare hands. He never even got burned.

"Dun, dun dun dun, dun dun duuuuun," Felix sang. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. The song sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Felix caught his look and laughed uncomfortably. "See, what we need now is a music montage. Then the ship will be done in no time."

"Music montage?" Bucky repeated blankly. Felix grinned.

"Yeah, like Rocky." His smile faded slightly as Bucky only looked slightly confused. "Karate Kid? Major League? Top Gun?" Bucky only shook his head. "Jeez, how have you not seen any of these movies? They're classics!"

"How the hell have you seen them?" Sam asked from his position further down the dock, on the other side of Felix. "All of those movies are way older than you are." Felix's grin turned sheepish.

"They didn't have a great selection of movies where they kept me locked up," he admitted. "But at least they let me watch something."

"Can we talk and work at the same time?" Wanda called out from behind them. "I know this looks easy, but it does take some effort." She was standing with arms outstretched, holding five metal panels aloft at the same time. Bucky gave her a nod, and she moved the panels forward, all of them aligning with the ribs of the ship and waiting to be welded into place. Felix, Steve and Bucky were lifted into the air with harnesses, perching on the side of the ship while they welded the metal into place. Sam used his wings to get into position. On the ground below them, several Wakandan volunteers held their lines, making sure they didn't plummet to their deaths. An undertaking of this magnitude would usually take several weeks, but between their unique abilities and Shuri's designs using Wakandan technology, their projected timeline was several days instead. It took ten hours to mount all the panels, and then Shuri activated the special rod that was mounted at the prow. The hull was immediately sealed with a thin layer of vibranium, only a few molecules thick, but that was enough to make it impenetrable, as well as able to absorb energy from any attacks and release it in the same manner as the King's fighting suit. The outer hull was complete, but the insides were more intricate, and they would spend a good deal more time on them. It was a massive undertaking, and Bucky was grateful for the distraction.


	45. Calm Before the Storm

When Nyssa awoke, she was alone in a bed that was not her own. It took a moment to remember where she was, and relief flooded through her that she had made it back home, even though the apartment wasn't technically hers. She heard the door to the apartment slam and struggled out of bed as Seraphina came home. Running her fingers lightly along the wall to use as a guide, she wandered out towards the living room.

"Oh, are you still here?" Sera seemed surprised. "I left some cash for a cab for you on the table by the door, if you wanted to take one home while I was gone."

"And I was supposed to notice that how?" Nyssa said dryly. "What time is it?"

"Damn near six. I'm just getting home from work. Are you just waking up?"

"Must have been a little tired." Nyssa's hand found the edge of the couch, and she leaned onto the forgiving surface. She had been asleep for nearly eighteen hours.

"I guess so," Sera commented. "Feeling better now?"

"A little." Nyssa rubbed her face. "There goes all my plans for the day."

"What did you have planned for the day after your return from an international trip, while still recovering from brain surgery?" Sera asked ironically. Nyssa gave a short huff of self-deprecating laughter.

"Well, I suppose I should probably get some adaptive equipment, like a clock that tells me the time, since I can't see them anymore. And…" she gestured helplessly. "I don't even know what else they make for… blind people. And I probably should go give up my driver's license."

"I'm sure that can wait," Sera pointed out. "It's not like you're going to be trying to drive anytime soon. As for the rest… There's this magical thing called the internet, and it never closes."

"Yes, but without something to help me look on it, it's a little difficult to see what it has to offer," Nyssa countered.

"That's what you have me for," Sera replied. "So, obviously, first order of business is to get you the proper software, so you can surf it on your own." Nyssa's eyes widened briefly.

"They make that?" she queried incredulously. It made sense, now that she thought about it, but she had never really had reason to look for such a thing before.

"They do," Sera confirmed. "I may or may not have spent time Googling options at work today. But first, you are going to eat, and then we will see if you feel up to doing anything else. Also, if you're feeling up to it, Rani and Micaela wanted to come over and hang out. Nothing crazy, just catching up. We all missed you, you know."

"You're not really planning on letting me go back to my apartment, I see," Nyssa observed.

"Is there something your apartment has that mine doesn't?" Seraphina queried mischievously.

"Aside from it being mine?" Nyssa responded pointedly. Sera gave her a long look, waiting for her honest reaction. Nyssa relaxed and gave up on the long mental list of things she had to do now that she was finally home. "A quiet night with the four of us… sounds like just what the doctor ordered."

"I'm a lawyer, not a doctor," Sera quipped. "And who said anything about quiet? I did mention Micaela was coming, right?"

* * *

Nyssa managed to throw together an outfit out of her suitcase before the other two friends arrived. It didn't take long for Nyssa to feel like almost no time had passed since she had left. Rani was a nurse at Lenox Hill and also volunteered at a free clinic in Harlem. She was the most reserved of the group, but her quiet confidence was a reassuring glow as she enveloped Nyssa in a hug. Her nurse's eyes assessed her quickly, and concern rose in her countenance. Nyssa quickly assured her friend that she was okay, really, and then their conversation was cut off by Michaela's arrival. Micaela and her husband owned a catering business that included a handful of food trucks. They specialized in Latin fusion, which they sold on the street food four days a week and turned into mobile soup kitchens for the other three, doling out the same quality food for those who couldn't pay and might otherwise go hungry. The only thing larger than her personality was her heart. She brought two hors d'oeuvres trays with her, setting them down on the island in Seraphina's kitchen for everyone to gather and graze while they talked, and laughed and caught up. Nyssa repeated her story – slightly edited from what she had told Sera, leaving out the part about having superpowers and being tortured – and then the conversation diverted to other topics. They talked and laughed until very late, and Nyssa savored being back among her friends, buoyed up by their familiar, welcoming energy. It was good to be home.

* * *

The next Monday morning, Nyssa climbed the steps of the Phoenix Youth Center in Queens, violin case in hand. The weekend had been filled with a flurry of reorganizing her apartment to make it easier to navigate, going through over a month's worth of mail, washing and putting away the clothes from her trip, and just settling back into her home in general. She didn't even want to think about how difficult it would have all been without her friends to help her. Now it was Monday, and she was due back at the office. She still hadn't decided whether or not to inform them of her blindness. Between her ability to still see people and the bracelet that warned her of inanimate objects, she was starting to learn to navigate her environment pretty well. As long as she wore a hat to hide her scars, she could avoid awkward questions.

She just had one stop she wanted to make before the office. She waved to the security guard and the social worker, Kiana and Tara, as she made her way through the secured front entrance and into the main lounge. The Phoenix Youth Center didn't officially open until 6:30am, when they offered a continental-style breakfast for kids who wanted to grab a bite to eat before they went to school. On the record, it was only a drop-in center. But the overnight staff had grown in the three years since they opened. At first, it was just a security officer, to ward against would-be trespassers and vandals. After several incidents where kids snuck in, not to do damage, but to find shelter against the cold or hiding from a drunken parent, Nyssa had added a crisis counselor and a social worker to the overnight shift. Now, the closets were stocked with extra pillows and blankets, and almost every night the couches and corners were filled with kids and teens just looking for a safe, warm place to sleep. There were a handful of showers, a washer and dryer for them to get freshened up for school, quiet corners to do homework if needed, and a printer available for last-minute papers.

They had rules, of course. There were no weapons or drugs allowed on grounds and hooking up was strictly off-limits. The staff were not supposed to shame them about it, but the place was meant to be a safe haven for those who needed it, and the last thing Nyssa wanted was for it to become a place for horny teenagers to escape to for illicit rendezvous. The library had a corner devoted to books on reproductive health, and any couple caught messing around was subjected to an informative but uncomfortable session with the staff, complete with references, homework and visual aids. It hadn't turned into as much of a problem as Nyssa had feared.

Legally, if the parents or guardians of the minor called the Center to ask if they were there, they had to tell them the truth. But the kids knew they wouldn't notify them automatically, and there had been a couple situations where someone had shown up with suspicious marks on them, and by the time their guardian had come to collect them, the police were waiting. Those who frequented the Center knew the staff had their backs.

Nyssa glided to a corner and silently set her belongings down. The sleepy forms of kids glowed all around her, some in the main lounge area, some in the peripheral rooms. With a small smile, she opened up her violin case and shouldered the instrument, bow in her other hand. She had spent enough hours playing violin that she could play it with her eyes closed, and often had in the past, so she found that this, at least, had been unaffected by her loss of vision. Taking a breath, she drew the bow across the strings, shattering the sleepy silence with the first cheerful bars of a good morning song. She warmed up with Bach's Violin Sonata No.1, a small smile curving her lips as the kids began to stir around her, waking up to the strains of violin. A few of the older kids and those who had been staying intermittently for months or even over a year, recognized what was going on, and heads poked out of the doors on the perimeter as excited whispers grew around her.

" _She's here. She's back. Nyssa's here."_ Slowly, a semi-circle started to form in front of her as faces still flushed with the smudged caress of sleep gathered, hurried feet adding percussion that Bach never wrote as they raced from room to room, making sure everyone knew she had come. She tried to stop by each of the properties held by Phoenix Rising every week, though as they had expanded sometimes it was more like every other. She had missed visiting them while she was out of town, had missed them. As the last notes of Sonata No. 1 faded away, her youthful audience burst into applause. She grinned.

"Does anyone have any requests?" she queried. The kids immediately threw out titles. Many of them were songs currently playing on the radio, which she had expected. She didn't always bring her violin on these visits, but when she did, it often turned into a game where the kids tried to stump her by naming songs they didn't think she would know. She hadn't failed a request yet. She chose one of the songs suggested and started to play, thanking genetics and her father's influence for her ability to play by ear. It only took a few bars for the kids to recognize the song and start to sing along, their youthful voices echoing in the early morning air. As soon as that song finished, a tidal wave of suggestions for the next one surged.

The impromptu concert lasted half an hour, culminating with Nyssa improvising on her instrument while the kids took turns singing a line or two. Most of them chose to welcome her back with their lyrics. A few had to give her a hard time for staying away so long. The last two minutes of the song, twin sixteen year old boys, Cameron and Jeremiah, took turns rapping while Nyssa's playing grew more staccato, adding punctuation and counterpoint as she bobbed in time. The song ended amid whoops, cheers and applause, and Nyssa was swarmed by enthusiastic kids welcoming her home. She greeted and hugged them all, then waved them off to get cleaned up and ready for school. One boy hung back, shyly waiting as she put her violin carefully back in its case. She had been torn about whether or not to take it to Wakanda with her, and had ultimately decided not to risk taking it on the plane. It was one of the only things she had left of her father. There had been moments she had regretted not bringing it with her, but now she was home again, and it felt good to have her bow back in her hand.

" _Mateo, you are spending nights with us again?_ " she asked in Spanish. " _I thought you had found a forever family to live with."_ Mateo was still hanging on the periphery, wanting to talk with her about something but unsure if he should say anything or not. She turned her full attention to him as he took a step closer. She could not see the bruises on his face, but she could see the aching anguish, grief and hurt that colored his countenance. He still hesitated, and she reached out a hand towards him. He ignored it.

" _I thought you forgot us,"_ he replied accusingly in his native language, his hurt suddenly transmuting into anger. " _Maybe suddenly you realized you were too good for us. I'm surprised you came back."_ Nyssa knelt down, making herself smaller than the boy. Mateo was only eight but had already seen too much in his short life, most of which had been spent in the foster care system.

" _I'm sorry, Mateo,"_ she said softly. " _I could never forget you."_ Hesitantly, he took a step closer.  _"If you're angry with me, I understand. You can tell me off. I can take it."_ Anger still colored his presence, but the hurt was there, too, just beneath the surface.

" _You turned your back on us. They said you went away, and nobody knew when you were going to come back. If you were going to come back. You went on some trip across the world, some exciting place, someplace better than here with us. But who's going to remember us, who is going to see us, if you don't?_ " Her heart broke at the bitterness in voice of one so small.

"Mateo,  _is everything okay with your new family?"_ she asked, although she suspected she already knew the answer. He shrugged, looking away. Hesitantly, she reached a hand out for him once more. He stepped closer yet, putting his hand in hers, and the hurt and anguish broke over her like a tidal wave, along with the disappointment of finally having his dream of adoption come true, only to have it turn into a nightmare. Small hurts, like not being allowed to speak Spanish in his new home, called names and shamed by those who were supposed to be caring for him, coupled with larger offenses of physical beatings used as discipline, being locked in his room and deprived of food and water. She wrapped her arms around him protectively, and his small frame suddenly shook as the tears came. She could feel the dampness on her shirt, but as quickly as they started, they stopped, as he dashed them away in embarrassment.

" _I'm so sorry,"_ she whispered in his ear.  _"They should not be treating you like that."_ He pulled away and shrugged, feigned bravado covering up the

" _It's because I'm bad. I break things and I hurt people. I ruin everything."_ Mateo's voice was eerily calm as he explained, despite the tears he had just shed. He sounded like he was quoting someone. Nyssa shook her head vehemently.

" _No, Mateo,"_ she contradicted him. " _You are not bad. You are a bright, courageous and resourceful boy. You are not bad; you are human."_ He pulled back to look at her face skeptically.

"Then why do you look so mad?" he asked in lightly-accented English.

"I'm not mad at you," she assured him. "I'm mad because the adults that are supposed to love and protect you are hurting you, and that should never happen. You don't deserve that." She wiped the wetness off his cheeks gently. Sniffling, he tried to smile, but the expression got caught in the wrinkle between his eyebrows. She stayed with him until he was calmed enough to go wash his face and finish getting ready for school. Then she went and had a serious discussion with the social worker. They encountered enough of these cases that she was on a first-name basis with many of the CPS workers. The first time she had encountered a case like this, she had been tempted to adopt them herself. But there were too many Mateos. Too many children stuck in terrible situations, and she couldn't possibly hope to save them all. With the outreach of the Phoenix Rising Foundation, she could help far more of them, and do what she could for the ones in the most desperate situations.

* * *

She was still in a contemplative mood when she arrived at her office. It was a little surreal, walking through the building and greeting coworkers, seeing them with this entirely new vision. Most greeted her with enthusiasm, happy to see her back. None of them suspected there was anything wrong with her eyes, although the colorful scarf on her head did draw a few comments and even more surprised glances.

Her first order of business was a meeting with Catherine to catch up on what had happened in the weeks she was gone and what projects were currently in the works. The other woman registered surprise as she entered Nyssa's office.

"Did you convert to Islam on your vacation?" she asked mildly as she seated herself across from Nyssa. Nyssa raised an eyebrow.

"Would it be a problem if I had?" she queried. Cathy was surprised by the question and quickly backed off.

"No, of course not," she demurred. "It was just… unexpected."

"Are we here to discuss my style choices, or Phoenix Rising?" Nyssa continued. Cathy held her hands up in surrender. Her curiosity intensified, but she respected Nyssa's request and turned the conversation to business matters instead.

* * *

After a long day of playing catch up, Nyssa was exhausted by the time she exited the building, but she had one more stop to make before she went home. She caught the subway to Brooklyn and took a taxi to Sunrise Apartments. She knocked on the door to Naomi's apartment, and smiled to herself as she watched the two boys playing together inside. A woman wary with the ghosts of her past approached the door, and her caution turned into surprise and a little fear as she saw Nyssa standing on the other side.

"Hi, can I help you?" Naomi asked guardedly. Nyssa smiled at her.

"Hi, Naomi. I'm sorry we haven't met until now. My name is Dr. Nyssa Taylor." Naomi nodded, her anxiety still flaring.

"I know who you are. I'm not in trouble, am I? I promise, my ex isn't going to cause any more problems," she vowed. Nyssa shook her head.

"No, you've done nothing wrong. I try to meet all the families who live in these buildings, but I've been out of town until recently. I heard about your trouble, so I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing." Naomi's presence clouded with doubt.

"You're the head of the organization that owns and runs this building, and you stopped by just to see how I'm doing?" she asked skeptically. Nyssa nodded. "No offense, ma'am, but that's not typically how things work." Nyssa's smile widened.

"You haven't lived here long, have you?" she asked. Naomi shook her head.

"Three months, ma'am. But you would know that from your records." Nyssa could understand the woman's apprehension. When you were down on your luck and life had kicked you repeatedly, you learned to keep your head down and not attract attention. Attention meant trouble. Nyssa had worked with hundreds of women like Naomi. Hell, at one time in her life, she had been Naomi. She gave her the most reassuring smile she could summon.

"We do things a little differently around here," she explained cryptically. "Do you mind if I visit for a few minutes, or is this a bad time?" Naomi stared at her a moment, incredulous disbelief warring with early-onset cynicism. After a moment, she stepped aside and gestured for Nyssa to enter the small but updated and well-appointed two-bedroom apartment. Her two sons had stopped playing and were regarding Nyssa with curiosity and a touch of caution.

"You're lucky you caught us at home," Naomi commented. "Usually I work midshift at the bar on Mondays, but tonight I'm closing so I've still got an hour or so yet. Jordan, Malik, go get your jammies on, you can watch an episode of Paw Patrol before we go downstairs to Maya's." The two boys obediently vanished down the hall.

"Do you usually work nights?" Nyssa asked conversationally.

"At the bar, yes. I also waitress during the day three or four days a week. I've still got a lot of hospital bills to pay off, and I'm saving up for maybe going to school in the fall," Naomi said briskly. Nyssa got the impression she had interrupted her in the middle of getting ready for her shift. She wouldn't visit long, then. Just long enough to put the woman at ease.

"What do you want to go for?" she asked.

"Programming," Naomi replied proudly. "I've always been good with computers, and most of the courses are online." Nyssa nodded agreement.

"Which of our case managers were you working with?" she queried. "Was it Madison?" Naomi nodded. "Give her a call," Nyssa urged. "She'll have a list of scholarships you could apply for to make classes more affordable." Naomi stopped moving and looked at her, and the suspicious eased a little more.

"Yeah? Maybe I'll give her a call."

* * *

The week progressed, and every day felt more comfortable as Nyssa found her old groove. Everything took more effort and greater concentration, but she inwardly celebrated the small victories: successfully navigating the subway, making it through the day without running into anything, making it through yet another meeting without anyone suspecting something was "off" with her. Pretending she could see the same way she could before was exhausting, but she had managed to bring her life back to a semblance of normal.

That all came to a crashing halt on Thursday, as her assistant Margarita showed a man with an official air into her office. He strode up to her desk and held something out towards her. She put her hand out and found a letter in it.

"What's this?" she asked

"Dr. Taylor, I am serving you with your notice," he announced. "You are to report to the address indicated at 10am Monday for your threat assessment." She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Threat assessment?" she repeated.

"Yes, ma'am. Your DNA indicates you are Enhanced, so the Department of Homeland Security must determine what kind of threat you may pose to the community."

"I run a nonprofit organization that endeavors to help everyone in the community, Mr. Haywood," she pointed out mildly. "Is that seen as threatening?" He flinched slightly, and she realized he hadn't told her his name.

"I just serve the papers, ma'am," he said, and left. Nyssa sat back in her chair, running her fingers over the letter as if touching it would tell her what the outcome would be. One thing was certain. She would no longer be able to hide her gifts from the world. She likely wouldn't be able to hide her new disability, either. But if she was to be outed, it might as well be on her own terms. Standing up, she crossed to the doorway, where Margarita was seated at her desk.

"Margarita, what was the name of that journalist who did the angel piece on me a few years ago? Do you remember?" Nyssa asked, knowing full well that Margarita did remember, as the article in question was still framed and hanging by her desk. One benefit of losing her sight was that at least Nyssa didn't have to look at it every day when she came to work anymore.

"Star Ramsey," Margarita answered immediately. Nyssa nodded slowly, mulling her options over before finally deciding to pull the trigger.

"Give her a call, would you? Let's see if she might be interested in doing a follow-up interview."


	46. Fallout

Saturday afternoon, Nyssa was seated at the table in her kitchen, book open before her, eyebrows furrowed as she concentrated on her fingers skimming over the paper. Reading Braille was something she'd never thought to try and learn before, and it was going slowly, but she just needed to practice. Her concentration was interrupted by the familiar but agitated presence of Micaela and Rani approaching her apartment rapidly. She closed the book as they pounded on the door, and got up to go answer as it opened and they came barging in, Micaela in the lead.

"Nyssa, what the hell is this?" Micaela demanded, waving an arm accompanied by the sound of paper rustling in the air. "Is this true?" Nyssa spread her hands helplessly.

"I'm not sure, Micaela… I can't see what you're holding," she admitted. A newspaper was pressed into her hands.

"It seems there are a few vital details you left off your story when you told us last week," Micaela reminded her archly. "Now, I can understand you wanting to keep things like that private, but do you want to explain to me why your closest friends had to find out the details of what happened to you from the fucking  _Times_?"

"Well, I have a threat assessment on Monday, so that kind of forced the issue," Nyssa said quietly, clasping her hands in her lap. "If it's all going to come out anyway, then I'd rather it be on my terms and in my words, not whatever some government agency decides to say about it."

"So it is true?" Rani ventured incredulously. "All of it? The telepathy? The blindness? The… torture?"

"All true," Nyssa confirmed. Rani stepped closer to her and waved a hand in front of her face. "I can see the energy of your hand," she tried to explain. "It's kind of like seeing people's auras, but on steroids."

"But you can't see my penlight," Rani replied. "You've got no pupillary response at all." Nyssa shook her head.

"Severed optic nerve, so I would suppose not," she said ruefully.

"Well, shit." Michaela sat down heavily on her couch. "Did you plan for the article to go viral, though?" Nyssa frowned at her friend.

"Plan? No. I'd hoped enough people would see it that they'd get my side of the story before anything else."

"Well, you're getting plenty of eyes on it," Micaela assured her. "I've had five people on my newsfeed share it, and they all had a different story about you to add."

"There's also a new hashtag trending," Rani mentioned. "#savedbyNYAngel. You should check it out, actually. It's pretty much all stories of the ways you've helped people." Nyssa raised her eyebrows.

"Really?" she asked incredulously. "The article wasn't supposed to be just about me. I wanted to highlight how some people who are Enhanced didn't choose to be that way, and that they are often taken advantage of, and how some of the new laws unfairly impact them."

"Oh, that's in there, too," Micaela verified. "But I guess right now people are mostly talking about what happened to you. There's a lot of debate about it. I've gotten into seven arguments on Facebook alone, defending you. So you should maybe stay offline for awhile, until it dies down." She could see Rani nodding in agreement.

"I'm still not sure why you would want an article like that written about you now," Rani said meditatively. "You hated the first one. And you've only been home a week. It's still so fresh. I'm sure you've barely had time to process. Why subject yourself to so much debate, so exposed in the public eye?" Nyssa leaned back on the edge of the table, arms folded over her chest.

"You could think of it as a bit of insurance," she said meditatively. "I did mention my risk assessment on Monday? I guess I thought that if everyone was talking about me, it would be harder to make me disappear." Both Rani and Micaela stared at her in shock as her words sank in, and for once even Micaela was left speechless.

* * *

Even though she now had the software to go online, Nyssa was still reticent to traverse the social networks and discover what people were saying about her. Despite her lack of attention to it, the story continued to spread like wildfire, inciting discussions and arguments online. The hashtag #savedbyNYAngel evolved, organically and without interference, into other stories of people whose lives had been saved by local heroes, superheroes and the Avengers. New hashtags arose and gained popularity as people remembered all the good things they'd done: #AmendtheAccords and #PardontheAvengers. These trended even faster, as the world stopped to reflect on all of those who had been saved by the band of heroes, despite the unfortunate casualties. They reflected, and they remembered.

Nyssa was starting to suspect that the little spark she'd set in motion had started more fires than she'd realized as the man in the suit seated across the table from her glared at her. At least, she assumed it was a glare, with the level of annoyance that streaked through his psyche and radiated in her direction. She heard the shuffling of papers, and he cleared his throat.

"So, Dr. Taylor," he began, the calm tone in his voice contradicting the tightly bottled anger she sensed. "Let's start with the basics. What abilities do you have that lie outside the range of abilities of an average person?"

"Well, Mr. Romilly, I am the CEO of a nonprofit company that serves nearly a million people each year, and employs nearly five thousand of the finest men and women in New York City. You might say I have a number of skills that you might consider above average." She smiled at him, but his frustration didn't abate.

"No, I'm not talking about job skills. I'm not talking about talents. I'm talking about… powers. Superhuman capabilities. Things you can do that no one else can." He slid something across the table towards her. Her fingers brushed against it, and she found a copy of a newspaper. She touched it lightly and raised an eyebrow.

"The  _Times,_ I presume?" she commented dryly. "I can't read this, unless you have a Braille copy available." His skepticism was palpable. She pushed it back across the table towards him. "If you've read the story, you know that I recently lost my sight." He seemed unimpressed.

"Except for the part where you can still see people, and you can see through walls," he pointed out.

"Walls, ceilings, floors. Mostly I try to block most of it out, because it's a little distracting," she admitted.

"And you can read minds," he continued, as if she hadn't said anything. She shrugged.

"A simplified way of putting it," she sighed.

"Okay, so, let's have it. What am I thinking right now?" he challenged. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine, you want parlor tricks? I find a light Merlot or Pinot Noir pairs best with Chicken Parmesan, maybe a Sangiovese. Stay away from the white wines. Oh, and the number you were thinking of was 42." She leaned forward earnestly. "And I know you don't actually think I'm a fraud, because you're feeling intimidated by me and also annoyed that you're feeling intimidated." His unsettled feeling intensified, but it was his skepticism that he clung to.

"You probably overheard me talking about my dinner plans while you were in the waiting room," he justified. "And 42 is a reference, so it's a popular number. Tell me something you couldn't possibly know. Tell me something that even I don't know."

"I didn't come here to convince you how powerful I am," Nyssa pointed out. "I came because I was summoned, for you to assess how much of a threat I might be. If you want to put in my file that I'm a fraud, you'd probably save me a lot of hassle. But, just for the record, you should stop making passes at Michelle in Acquisitions. She's not interested, and you're not winning her over. You're just making her uncomfortable. Especially since she knows you're married." There was an explosion of disbelieving mirth on the other side of what she assumed was a wall. She heard Agent Romilly's knuckles crack, and he took a deep breath to quell the rising anger. He stood up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor.

"I'll be right back," he said cryptically. The door opened and slammed shut behind him as he began to pace the hallway to calm down. Nyssa tranquilly sipped the tea they had provided and contemplated the relative wisdom of antagonizing the man who possibly held the key to her future. She was past the point of no return. Her interview had made sure of that. If she were to pretend she couldn't do what she could, the interview would look like lies. Besides, she was done hiding. She'd done it all her life, and while she certainly had achieved a degree of success, it still was painful hiding an entire aspect of herself. She was finished lying about who she really was.

If Bucky could face the truth about himself and live whole and honestly, then so could she.

Agent Romilly moved to a different part of the building, then returned. He tossed more papers on the table. Nyssa didn't bother reaching for them this time.

"Your passport says you recently returned from several weeks in Wakanda," he noted.

"Yes, that's true," Nyssa admitted.

"What were you doing there? Missions trip?" he jeered. Nyssa smirked at the idea that Wakanda would need such a thing.

"Wakandans hardly need saving," she said dryly. "I was working with clients."

"Oh, really?" He didn't quite believe her. "Who was that?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

"You've never heard of therapist-client privilege?" she asked. "I'm willing to answer any questions you might have about me. I don't have to answer anything about anyone else."

"Fine." He made a swift motion, accompanied by the sound of a folder turning over. "What kinds of things can you do to other people? What is the extent of your power?"

"I've never fully explored the extent of it," Nyssa answered honestly. "Mostly I use it to help relive anxiety or other uncomfortable feelings in other people. I can make someone fall asleep. It does give me more information on others than they might be comfortable with. In theory, being able to control others' perceptions could be quite a potent power, wouldn't it?" He frowned at her.

"Would you care to demonstrate that?" he said casually, his tone contradicting the concern she could sense in him.

"No, I wouldn't," she said flatly. "And you'd rather I not. But I don't think that what I am capable of is really the point here, is it?"

"Isn't it?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No. I think you'd agree there are a lot of things that people may be capable of, that they wouldn't do under normal circumstances. You could either put them under duress, and force them to do things out of character, or you could judge them by the things they actually do. In my case, I have spent twenty years as an upstanding citizen and member of the community. The fact that I have an ability that most others do not is immaterial."

"It is not immaterial to this investigation," Agent Romilly said in irritation.

"Regardless," Nyssa replied, "you're not sending me to some cabin in the woods to be studied and observed. I'm not going anywhere after this interview other than to my home."

"It's standard procedure for all newly discovered powers…" he protested, but she cut him off.

"And that is a terrible policy. You're investigating people for circumstances outside of their control. Assessing them, judging them, isolating them, marginalizing them. Deciding if they are a threat based on what they could do, not what they will do. Are you trying to create supervillains? Because that's how you create supervillains. Besides, my abilities are not newly discovered," she pointed out. "I've known about it for two decades. Surely the fact that I haven't tried to use my powers for evil by now could allay any fears that I would be a threat to the public, mmm?" She leaned forward, and the discomfort that rippled through him told her she was meeting his eyes but appearing to see more. "And in any case, you know that I didn't come alone. My friend is waiting for me in the lobby. Are you familiar with Seraphina Grey?" She knew Sera's reputation in the community and the courtroom. Based on Romilly's gut response, he was familiar with it, too. "She's waiting for me, and if I don't come back, you can be sure she will be filing unlawful detainment suits and alerting the media to what you're doing here. And since my name has been… in the media recently, I imagine it will garner a lot of attention. That's pretty much the opposite of what you want, isn't it?" Agent Romilly sat motionless for several long moments.

"The second half of this assessment is a medical exam," he grunted begrudgingly. Nyssa puffed a disbelieving chuckle and shook her head.

"I have had my fill of medical exams lately," she informed him. "I will not consent to any testing or observation that is disruptive to my life. I will, however, sign consent forms for my records in Wakanda. You should find those to be quite comprehensive. I believe that should be sufficient for your purposes." Pushing back from the table, Nyssa stood. "So then, unless I am being charged with something, I should be free to go."

"These are not criminal proceedings," Agent Romilly pointed out. Nyssa smiled thinly.

"Good. There there should be no issue with the termination of this interview."

* * *

A large group had gathered for the official launch of the vessel that well over a hundred people had assisted in constructing. Steve, Bucky, Wendy, Sam and all the others were loading the last of their belongings aboard when T'Challa also made an appearance. Steve spotted the king and strode down the ramp to the shore.

"I see you are taking your leave of us," T'Challa noted. Steve nodded.

"Yes, it's time," he agreed. "But you know you can always call us if Wakanda needs us. We are forever in your debt." T'Challa smiled.

"That was not the terms of our agreement," he said mildly. Steve raised his eyebrows.

"No," he agreed, "but you know what I mean." He crossed his arms across his chest and inclined his head towards T'Challa in the Wakandan salute. Then he turned and marched back up the ramp onto the ship. Wanda was waiting for him there.

"Everyone's ready," she said. He acknowledged her words and pressed a button next to the ramp, which vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Then let's go," he replied. She nodded and, extending her hands, surrounded the entire ship with a red shimmer. The crowd cheered as the vessel raised into the air and floated up, rising over the mountains and heading in the direction of the open ocean.

* * *

The rest of the week continued as if nothing happened, until she returned home on Thursday. She and Sera had plans to catch a local artist playing at a small venue a few blocks away. Nyssa was just putting in a pair of earrings when her friend arrived. Sera still had a copy of her keys, so it was not alarming for her to just walk in.

"Nyssa, what the hell?" she called in the direction of the bedroom. Nyssa came out with a quizzical expression. "You aren't even trying to open your mail anymore, are you?" Nyssa thought sheepishly of the pile of unopened mail on her table.

"I haven't gotten them all scanned in yet," she admitted. "That OCR software works great, but the scanner is kind of a hassle. It seems like a lot of effort when most of it is probably junk."

"Some of it isn't," Seraphina pointed out. "Some are bills, this one's from the State Board of Psychology, and this one is a package. Ooh, it's from Stark Technologies." Nyssa's face brightened.

"Really? Let me see." Sera handed her the package and refrained from making a joke about Nyssa's choice of words, which Nyssa appreciated. There was a folded-up sheet of paper inside the package, and a small object wrapped in bubble wrap. Nyssa handed the paper to Sera and concentrated on unwrapping the bubble wrap. "Invoice?" she guessed to her friend.

"No, letter." Sera sounded surprised. " _Hand-written_ letter." Her energy turned slightly suspicious. "Tony Stark isn't your Jimmy, is he?" Nyssa let out a surprised chuckle.

"No! No. Tony isn't even remotely my type, you know that," she reminded her friend. Sera shrugged.

"I know you guys were working pretty closely together there for awhile," she pointed out.

"As colleagues, friends. Never more than that. Don't even speculate. Pepper would have my head. What does the letter say?" Nyssa pressed. Sera seemed a little put out at having her conjecture derailed. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

"Crazy Train," she began, and snorted. "Crazy Train, really?" Nyssa gestured a reminder it was Tony Stark they were talking about. Sera shook her head and continued, though Nyssa was pretty sure she rolled her eyes. "The concept of that new tech you sent me was actually kind of brilliant, even if the execution was terrible. I'm surprised I didn't think of it myself. I've refined it and borrowed the concept for my newest suit. I've gotta say, it's a bitch to control, but amazingly efficient once you get the hang of it. I've enclosed a little something for you. You'll be familiar with the function, but it should work wirelessly now. No surgery required. You can thank me later. Tony." Nyssa finished peeling away the bubble wrap and cradled the small device her hand. She wasn't certain what to do with it. "Let me see," Sera demanded. Nyssa held it out to her. Sera picked it up. "It looks a little like one of those Bluetooth earpieces you can get for your phone."

"So it fits on your ear?" Nyssa asked. Sera bent closer and pressed the cool, lightweight gadget around the back of Nyssa's ear. It was both surprisingly secure and comfortable. A subtle but somehow familiar buzz started in her brain, and suddenly her phone and laptop – as well as the refrigerator's icemaker – appeared in her visual field, glowing golden with energy.

"Okay, but what does it do?" Sera asked. Chewing on her lower lip, Nyssa reached for her phone and concentrated on it, focusing her consciousness like she had when had been trapped in Nessun Luogo. Immediately, she had the sensation of being swept up amongst the currents of information, images flashing through her mind's eye. She had a fleeting question, and the answer appeared. Taking a deep breath, she set her phone back down.

"Um, it adds another dimension to my… abilities," she admitted. "I think the usual term for it is technopathy…" Sera scoffed in disbelief.

"So, what, it lets your brain connect directly to the internet?" she said jokingly. Nyssa shrugged.

"Among other things," she admitted.

"Did you mention that to anyone during your assessment?" Sera asked dryly.

"I didn't have the ability then," Nyssa pointed out. "The last time I could do it, I had hardware wired directly into my brain. I didn't expect to be able to do it again." She took the device out and stashed it next to her laptop. "It will make navigating my emails easier, I suppose." It would make a lot of things easier, she suspected, but there would be time to explore those aspects later.

"So, what, you can go anywhere in your head? Make a computer do anything you want? Is it the same with any electronics?" Nyssa could literally see the wheels in her friend's head turning as she processed the new information. "Can you drive my car with your mind, and use the navigation cameras to see where you're going?"

"Well, it worked with the aircraft… Wasn't there a letter from the State Board there, too?" Nyssa asked, changing the subject. Sera huffed at her but didn't argue. Nyssa was sure she would bring the aircraft up again later.

"Yeah. Here." She pressed the envelope into Nyssa's hand. Nyssa felt the still-sealed envelope and held it back out to her friend.

"Can you open it for me?" she requested.

"Oh, no. Opening someone else's mail is a federal offense," Sera rejoined. "This lawyer is not about to run afoul of the law." It was Nyssa's turn to roll her eyes.

"There's not a jury in the country that would find you guilty, given the circumstances," Nyssa shot back, but tore open the envelope and handed the paper inside to her friend. "Fine. Reading my mail isn't a federal offense if I ask you to do it." Sera fell silent, her manner becoming shocked and concerned as she scanned the letter. "Sera, what does it say?" Nyssa prodded.

"Doctor Nyssa Taylor," Sera began, assuming the same voice she used for quoting legal precedence in the courtroom. "It has come to the attention of the board that you have abilities not generally covered by our bylaws. The board is taking measures to review what possible harm a person with your authority and abilities could do, and will be amending our bylaws to reflect this. Until we come to a decision, this letter is notification that your license to practice has been suspended." Nyssa swallowed hard to get past the rock that had formed in her throat. She hadn't expected this outcome, though it had crossed her mind that it was a possibility.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing I hadn't resumed working with any private clients, then," Nyssa said, attempting to be glib but having difficulty forcing the words through a throat turned dry as gin.

"Shit, that's harsh," Sera commented. "I mean, technically legal, but still harsh."

"Well, you of all people would know the difference between what's legal and what's right," Nyssa replied. Resolutely, she crossed the room to her purse's hook by the door. Sliding the straps over her shoulder, she turned the knob to open the door. "But I don't want to let it ruin a live concert. We better get going, or we'll be late."

"Really? You're not worried about this?" Sera asked incredulously. Nyssa shook her head.

"Not tonight. I'll worry tomorrow. There's nothing I can do about it right now."

* * *

The concert was enjoyable, but not quite enough to keep her mind off recent developments. Nyssa found herself struggling to concentrate on the music and immerse herself in it as she normally would, although the colors were spectacular. Between the low-level anxiety that had infected her evening, the late night and the stress of the long week at work, she was exhausted by the time she got home, but still found herself unable to fall asleep. Since her new sight was not dependent on her eyes, it was also difficult to turn it off, with vibrant colors and stranger's emotions seeping into her consciousness every time she lay down. It was distracting, and decidedly less than restful. When she finally did get to sleep, she was haunted by vivid and disturbing dreams. She awakened feeling hungover, even though she had not touched a drop of alcohol the night before.

She found herself distracted at work the next day as well. Not only were there a thousand questions whirling in her head, but she also couldn't shake the feeling that this was not over, and there was another shoe about to drop. She was sitting in a board meeting, listening to the numbers from the last quarter, but having a lot of trouble concentrating.

"Unfortunately, due to recent events, we have had a number of major donors expressing concerns about the leadership of this company, and they are hesitant to continue their donations for the foreseeable future. Projections for the next quarter are significantly less manageable." Brendan, the CFO, tried to keep his tone neutral, but Nyssa immediately found the attention of everyone in the room trained on her. Sitting up straighter, she squared her shoulders.

"You mean me, right? They don't want to donate to a company run by me," she said flatly, then shrugged. "We will hold membership drives, community outreach events, raise public awareness. We can get funding from other sources." Brendan hesitated, and she felt the discomfort of everyone else in the room.

"The amount we are projected to lose constitutes 72% of our operating budget," he said quietly. Nyssa's eyes widened.

"Well, let's brainstorm," she said resolutely. "We've gone through lean times before. We can replace a few major donors. Sponsor a golf tournament, throw a gala…"

"Or you could resign," Cathy suggested quietly. Nyssa chuckled at the suggestion.

"Resign?" she repeated. "I created this company from nothing more than an idea. I started it with my own money, I gave fifteen years of my life, my energy, my dreams. I hired all of you, built this organization from nothing to… to this…" She gestured at the large, formal board room around them. "…and now you want me to just step down?" She focused on each of the board members in turn. They were uncomfortable, but resolute. They had already decided. Only Alana seemed outraged, sitting at the other end of the table. She was as surprised as Nyssa. Nyssa stood. "That's what you all want, isn't it?" she said incredulously. "You want my resignation. You want me gone."

"We are prepared to offer you a generous severance package," Cathy offered, as if that would take the bite out of the request. "$2.5 million, as a lump sum." Silently, Brendan slid a small stack of paperwork across the table towards her. Nyssa gripped the edge of the table and hoped she wasn't swaying as much as it felt like she was. They were going in for the kill, and the last thing she wanted to show them was weakness. It was surreal. For a moment, she thought maybe she was still in her bed, dreaming. The table cutting into her fingers told her she was still awake.

"So let me get this straight," she said levelly. "With me here, we can barely afford to continue operating. With me gone, you can afford a golden parachute?"

"I'm not happy about it, either," Cathy said sincerely. "We are all going to miss you. Sometimes, we have to make decisions that we'd rather not have to. But when it comes down to it, I believe that Phoenix Rising's future depends on this." Nyssa swallowed hard.

"Fine." She picked up the pen. "You can have my resignation. Not for your sake, but the sake of the people who depend on our services. I don't want my circumstances to impact them. I will take the money, but I am donating $2.4 million back to it." She held a finger up at Brendan. "I want it to go directly into services, to benefit our clients. No bonuses, no holiday parties, nothing for any of you."

"I'll see to it," Brendan assured her. Gritting her teeth, Nyssa signed on the line where Brendan pointed.

"I want a copy of this," she informed him. Seraphina would look it over for her and tell her exactly how badly she'd screwed herself. After everything she'd been through recently, this felt like surrender, but she didn't think she could face an uphill battle working with people who thought she should be gone. Phoenix Rising would survive. She would, as well, but her path was leading her in another direction.

Which was not to say that she wasn't feeling emotional about the decision. She clasped her hands behind her as Brendan collected and copied the papers, trying not to let them see how she was shaking.

"Alana, would you escort Dr. Taylor to her office to collect her things, and then see that she makes it off grounds?" Cathy asked in a tone as if she was simply asking for Alana to fetch more coffee. Alana stood and cleared her throat.

"I will," she declared, her voice nearly shaking with barely suppressed anger. "But I want it on the record that I think this is the wrong decision, and you're all heartless, unfeeling bastards for doing this."

"Noted," Cathy replied. The room fell silent, all eyes on Nyssa and Alana as the security officer escorted the former CEO from the room. Alana's hand on Nyssa's arm felt supportive rather than punitive, and Nyssa let the other woman steady her as they walked out.

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea they were planning this," Alana told her as soon as the door closed behind them. Nyssa nodded faintly.

"I know," she breathed. "They probably didn't invite you to the discussion because they knew what you'd think of it."

"I've half a mind to quit, myself," Alana muttered, half under her breath.

"If you find that this has become a place you no longer want to work, then you must do what you feel is right for you. But don't quit to make a statement, or for my sake," Nyssa cautioned. "You are still the best person for your job here, regardless of whether I am here or not." They paused as they reached the door to Nyssa's office.

"Do you need any help packing?" Alana asked.

"Packing?" Margarita repeated from her desk. "Why is she packing?"

"Because the Board just demanded her resignation," Alana replied sourly. Margarita jumped up in shock.

"What?" she asked, stunned. "Why?"

"They had their reasons," Nyssa said wearily. "I could use a box."

"Okay," Margarita said reluctantly. The three women went into Nyssa's office and gathered the personal items she wanted to take home with her. They had barely started when Margarita started crying.

"Nyssa, I just want you to n-n-know, it has been a, a, a pleasure being your assistant," she sobbed. Nyssa put her arms around the woman in a comforting hug.

"And you were the best assistant I could have hoped for," she returned. "I think you'd be perfect for that fundraising coordinator position that just opened up, but if you'd rather apply elsewhere, I'll write you a glowing letter of recommendation." Margarita nodded, wiping away her tears.

In the fifteen minutes it took them to finish packing Nyssa's things, the office rumor mill had done its work, and a crowd was gathering outside her door. She was well aware of them, and made an extra effort to compose herself as she stepped through the door.

"Is it true?" Ellie asked tremulously. "Are you leaving us?"

"The Board of Directors has asked for my resignation, and I have agreed," she confirmed. The crowd burst into a chorus of denials. She waited until their protests died away. "I have greatly enjoyed working with all of you, and I will miss you."

"Dr. Taylor, are they making you leave? I'll walk out, too. They can't screw you over like that. They'll notice if we all quit, too." The original query had come from the back of the crowd, and was joined by a chorus of agreement. The shouts died away as Nyssa shook her head, holding up her hands.

"I appreciate the sentiment, folks, but I need you here, to make sure our mission doesn't go astray. Our clients need you. You are each uniquely qualified to fulfill the role you were hired for. I'm not going to be at the helm, but I know each of you shared my vision, so I'm depending on you to continue to see it through." A small smile played around her lips. "But I do recommend that you unionize."

They all wanted to say goodbye individually, and Alana smiled indulgently and stepped back. She was in no hurry. For Nyssa, though she had been given about an hour's reprieve, it still seemed only a moment later when she and Alana were standing outside the building. Alana handed her the box.

"Thank you so much, Alana," Nyssa said sincerely. Alana snorted.

"For what, escorting you out of the building you built?" she said bitterly.

"For speaking up," Nyssa reminded her. "For standing by me. For being the best damn head of security. And a good friend." Alana hugged her, then pushed her back to regard her at arm's length.

"I'm going to worry about you, you know," she announced. Nyssa smiled.

"I'll be okay," she assured the older woman. "I'm as close as you can get to a professional at starting over. Plus I have my severance package." Alana scoffed.

"You mean the golden parachute that you turned into a handkerchief?" she remarked.

"It'll be enough," Nyssa declared confidently.

"You take care of yourself." Alana hugged her once more, then went back inside. Nyssa stood on the sidewalk outside the doors of the building she had conceived, designed and financed, clutching a copy paper box of office knick knacks and books that was all that she had left of it.


	47. Tragically Beautiful

Gripping her box of belongings tightly, Nyssa made her way through the crowded New York streets. She wasn't really paying attention to where she was going, just moving with the crowd. Letting her barriers drop, she blended with the crowd around her, becoming them for just a little while, with all their troubles and concerns. Sometimes, another's burdens were easier to bear than her own. Her feet kept moving as the hours ticked by. She came back to herself standing on another patch of sidewalk. She was nowhere near her apartment. The building before her was teeming with life, but most of it wasn't human.

"C'mon, Mom, look, they're having an adoption special on the kittens!" a little girl squealed as she ran by Nyssa. A little smile quirked the edges of Nyssa's mouth, and she entered the building. The walls were lined with animals, mostly dogs and cats, but there were a handful of rabbits, gerbils, hamsters, mice and the odd rat. Many of them were shaking and scared, looking hopefully at the people filing by their cages. Some had completely shut down, curled up at the back wall or in the corners, trying to ignore everything around them. Some ventured forward eagerly, wanting to engage with Nyssa as she walked by, but she found herself drawn on, towards the back of the building. She encountered a door in her way, but it wasn't locked, so she walked through it. Here, there were no people, but there was still a line of canine presences huddled along both walls. A few of them whined at her, and a couple barked. But she had already made up her mind. The dog in the last kennel on the right was still silent, curled up in the far corner on the bare cement. Her hand found the latch and opened it, but he didn't move, only eying her suspiciously. Crouching down, she set her box on the floor outside the kennel, then crawled into it and seated herself cross-legged in the opposite corner from him.

For several long minutes, he only watched her. She made herself as small and non-threatening as possible, and did not move. With a quiet whine, he sat up, still watching her. She sent waves of reassurance towards him. He edged closer. She still didn't make a move towards him. Little by little, he inched in her direction. She didn't move as he sniffed her face, her shirt, her legs. With a long-suffering sigh, he set his head in her lap. Now she moved, slowly and gently, stroking his head and ears.

"Ma'am, what are you doing back here?" One of the staff had finally discovered her. "You're not supposed to in this area, and you're definitely not supposed to be in there with that dog. Please come out."

"I want to adopt this one," she informed him.

"I'm sorry, but he's not eligible for adoption. Too reactive, too aggressive. He's attacked people before. He's actually scheduled to be destroyed tonight. We have plenty of other dogs who are suitable for companions in front. I can show you some that are more suitable… and prettier…"

"Too aggressive?" Nyssa scratched behind his ears, and he pushed his head contentedly into her midsection. "Yes, I can see what a big, scary, dangerous animal he is. I want this one. I'll sign whatever waiver you want me to."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but our policies are clear on this. He's attacked people, so he's not adoptable."

"He was trained to attack," Nyssa pointed out. "He isn't a mean dog. He was in the hands of malicious people, treated badly, trained to kill. He attacked because they told him to."

"The reason doesn't matter," the staff person protested.

"Doesn't it? It should," Nyssa countered. "I'll tell you what. Let me adopt him, and I will retrain him. If he shows any aggression towards others, I will bring him back, and you can euthanize him." She shifted, bringing her face closer to the bars of the cage. A shock of recognition rippled through the worker.

"Hey, you're… you're the Angel," he stammered. "The New York Angel, the one that was in the papers." She smiled at him. He cleared his throat. "Um, ah… let me get my manager."

* * *

Seraphina let herself into Nyssa's apartment using her key. The apartment was dark, but that didn't mean anything. She strolled into the living room and flipped the lights on. A dark, furry head rose from the couch and stared at her over the back of it with piercing, pale blue eyes. Sera's eyes widened, and she backed away slowly.

"Nyssa!" she called. Her friend emerged from the bathroom. Sera held up a hand, palm towards her. "Don't move. Somehow, a dog got into your apartment. You go call animal control, I'll see if you have any food in the fridge we can distract him with."

"That won't be necessary," Nyssa said with a chuckle. "He's here because I brought him here. That's Darshan. I adopted him today." Sera glanced away from the dog to stare at her friend in shock, then looked back to make sure he wasn't about to attack them.

"Adopted him? From where?" she asked.

"The shelter on 110th," Nyssa explained shortly.

"Well, you should probably take him back," Sera opined. "Are you even allowed to have dogs here?" She recognized the expression on Nyssa's face. Her friend was prepared to defend her decision to the death.

"I can't take him back. If I do, they'll kill him. And service dogs are allowed. They have to be."

"Nyssa, he is not a service dog. He's not a seeing eye dog. You realize they spend years and thousands of dollars training service dogs, right? You can't just pick a random dog and decide he's going to be your eyes." Nyssa set her jaw stubbornly.

"I'll find someone to train us."

"You don't even know if he has the right temperament to be a guide dog."

"Yes, I do," Nyssa insisted. "He's loyal. He's intelligent. He's patient. He's protective. He's perfect... for my purposes at least." Seraphina ran her hands through her hair and contemplated tearing all of it out. Nyssa snapped her fingers and held out her hand. Darshan jumped off the couch and jogged over to her, his nose touching her hand before he dropped his rump to the floor and sat, eyes on her attentively. Nyssa's satisfied smile made Sera shake her head. "See?"

"Okay, so… you're going to train him to be your guide dog. He can't start that right away. What are you going to do with him when you're at work?" Sera pointed out. Nyssa's smile soured and faded.

"That's not going to be an issue." She padded over to the kitchen, Darshan following closely behind her. Her fingers skimmed along the surface of the counter until she encountered some papers. Picking them up, she handed them silently to Sera. Sera started skimming the document, but her eyes bugged out and she shot Nyssa a startled glance before going back to the beginning and reading them more carefully.

"What the hell… what the fuck is this shit, Nyssa? You  _stepped down?_  You created that company, started it with your own money, and you just… resigned?" Nyssa leaned back on the arm of the couch, shoulders slumped forward in defeat. Darshan whined and nudged her hand with his nose, and she absently rubbed his head.

"They ambushed me, Sera," she said tiredly. "Apparently there were a number of our donors that didn't like that interview that I did for the  _Times._  I don't know whether it was something I said, or they didn't want to fund a company run by an Enhanced person. In any case, they were going to withdraw their funding, and it was a… pretty sizeable chunk of our operating budget."

"So?" Sera countered. "You can find new donors, new funding. You've done it before." Nyssa nodded.

"That's what I said. But everyone else seemed pretty set on having me leave instead."

"So you just did? You weren't going to fight them on it?" Sera was flabbergasted. It was very out of character for Nyssa to give in on something that meant so much to her. Nyssa's hand covered her face for a moment, and her shoulders started to shake. "Oh, honey." Sera stepped in closer and put her arms around her forlorn friend.

"I, I, I…just couldn't," Nyssa sobbed, her voice muffled against Sera's shirt. Her small frame shook with emotion. Sera rubbed her back in silent comfort. After several long minutes, she calmed enough to talk, her words punctuated occasionally by involuntary breaths. "It was one thing to fight back against the bastards that pulled funding, but I… I couldn't see fighting to stay and having to work with everyone who wanted me gone. And I couldn't see firing everyone and replacing them, and then having to fight to find new funding, new everything. I just... I felt so betrayed. I didn't even want to be in the same building with them anymore. And I wanted to make sure the clients didn't have to suffer for what I chose to do, for who I am, what I am."

"Well, I can't blame you for that," Sera said ruefully. Phone in hand, she decided. "I'm inviting Rani and Micaela over."

"What? Why?" Nyssa wiped the tears from her face and ran her hands over her head, a familiar gesture that looked odd without her usual long hair.

"Well, primarily because I'm craving Micaela's fried yuca and stuffed avocados," Sera said teasingly. "But also because we're your friends, and you need us right now." She put her hands on her hips. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I had a scone before the meeting this morning. I've been a little distracted since then." Nyssa ventured sheepishly. Sera grimaced.

"Of course you have been. I'm telling Micaela to make a double batch."

* * *

Micaela juggled three containers of food standing in front of the door to Nyssa's apartment. She was contemplating whether to attempt to shift the containers to knock or just use her foot when the door opened. Seraphina was wide-eyed, but looked relieved when she saw Micaela standing there.

"I'll have to finish cooking here. You made it sound like an emergency," Micaela said. Sera nodded.

"Yeah… I'll fill you in."

"How bad is it?" Micaela asked. Sera opened her mouth to explain, but then grimaced instead as mournful violin music drifted to their ears. "Aw, shit. We're already to sad violin?" She pushed past Sera and headed to the kitchen. "You should have told me, I would have gotten here sooner." Sera shook her head and went to close the door, but spotted Rani rushing down the hallway, so she waited.

"I heard the violin from the street," Rani said breathlessly. "Where is she?"

"Bedroom balcony," Sera told her. Rani wasted no time heading in that direction. "Watch out, she got a dog," Sera called after her.

"She did what, now?" Micaela squawked from the kitchen as she set the oven to preheat.

"Adopted a random dog with the idea she's going to turn him into her service dog," Sera explained in an exasperated tone. Micaela's eyebrows went up.

"That's not how that works," she protested. Sera gestured helplessly.

"That's what I said. But you know how she gets."

* * *

Rani quietly sidled out of the sliding door in Nyssa's bedroom to the balcony. The smaller woman was standing leaning against the railing, her violin tucked under her chin and eyes closed as she played. At her feet, a large black brindle dog lay, head resting against her bare feet. His eyes opened and darted in Rani's direction as she approached, but he didn't move. Patiently, Rani seated herself cross-legged in the opposite corner, hands folded in her lap as she listened. The music was unfamiliar. Plaintive, inconsolable despair poured from the instrument. Rani soon felt a lump of empathetic grief swelling in her throat, and unshed tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Still, she waited. The forlorn melody turned angry, discordant notes vowing vengeance. Nyssa's body rocked with the intensity of the emotion and the music. The dog at her feet whined softly and lifted his head to look at her. Finally, the anger slowly faded, instead replaced by a reluctant acceptance. The lump in Rani's throat slowly eased, and she wiped the tear from her cheek. Nyssa lowered her bow. The last note faded away, leaving poignant emotion swirling in its wake. From the street, faint applause and shouts of appreciation drifted through the night air. With a sigh, Nyssa set the instrument aside and sagged down to the surface of the balcony. The dog moved in closer, crawling into her lap now that she was seated, sniffing at her face and licking away the saltwater trails before laying his head on her shoulder.

"That was tragically beautiful," Rani commented. Nyssa smiled sadly.

"Here I sit, in the shattered fragments of the life I built for myself," she replied bitterly. "I can't see doors or walls right in front of me, I hurt and abandoned what could have been the love of my life, I can't be a therapist, and I was ousted from my own company. I can't even hope that Phoenix Rising fails, because I want them to keep doing the work I started. How's your month going?" Rani raised her eyebrows.

"That's a lot of loss," she noted empathetically. "I can only imagine how hard it is." Nyssa leaned her head back against the railing for a moment and closed her eyes. For a long moment, they just sat in silence, as the emotions stirred up by Nyssa's violin slowly settled like sediment.

"He asked me to come with him, you know?" she said suddenly, eyes still closed. "To stay there, be a part of his life. I told him no." Opening her eyes, she stared off into space. "Right now, I'm not sure that was the right decision."

"Why did you turn him down?" Rani asked gently. Nyssa sighed and contemplated the question.

"I thought I had too much waiting for me here to turn my back on it. Not just you guys and Phoenix Rising, but… the other things going on. The screenings at the airport, the government targeting people like me, making lists… if it's happening to me, it's happening to other people, too. And I can do something about it. That's why I did the interview. And even setting that aside… I wasn't what he needs right now. He's just starting to rebuild his own life, he doesn't need association with me to tear it all down again."

"And has any of that changed?" Rani asked. Nyssa buried her face in the dog's neck.

"No," she admitted begrudgingly. "It just sucks right now. I feel like I have nothing left, plus I'm a terrible person for breaking his heart."

"Did you lie to him? Did you promise to stay and then leave?"

"No," Nyssa said quietly.

"If you didn't feel obligated to come back here, would you have stayed?"

"Maybe. Part of me wanted to, more than anything." Nyssa considered the thought. "But no. I shouldn't have fallen for him in the first place. It's complicated. But maybe it's better that I hurt him now than that I cause more damage when he's already been through so much." Rani thought it sounded like she was still trying to convince herself.

"It sounds to me like you loved him enough to let him go," she suggested quietly. Tears welled up in Nyssa's eyes at this reframing.

"Maybe," she said, a catch in her voice. Swallowing hard, she looked over at Rani. "I'd like to talk about something else for awhile. What's new in your life?" Rani brightened.

"They are rolling out new treatments at work, I was excited to tell you about it. They're from Wakanda, of all places. Apparently they have a cure for sickle cell anemia. Not just an effective treatment, but an actual cure! It's going to change so many people's lives." Nyssa's face brightened.

"That's amazing! And I suspect, only the beginning of what we will see from Wakanda."

"They have some new treatment options for cancer, too. I don't quite understand the science behind it because it's very different from what I'm used to, but…" Rani stopped as Seraphina stepped through the door onto the balcony.

"Food's ready," she announced. "Come and eat!"

"I still can't believe they did that to you," Micaela slurred, gesturing with alcohol-enhanced enthusiasm. "After everything you've done. You… you built an empire of, of, of… an empire of compassion. You're the empress of compassion!" Nyssa chuckled and shook her head, pointing some fried yuca at her friend.

"I think that's enough tequila for you," she teased.

"She's not wrong, though," Rani pointed out. She scraped another chip through the dip sculpted to vaguely resemble Cathy that they had been methodically destroying all evening. Like Nyssa, she was not partaking in the alcoholic portion of the festivities. "You made a big difference in this city. What they did to you is… unconscionable."

"Can't you sue them or something?" Micaela added. "Sue them for unlawful termination or discrimination or something?"

"I wasn't terminated, I resigned," Nyssa reminded her friend. "And I signed an agreement."

"Without even reading it first," Seraphina added sourly. "How often have you heard me complain about people signing things without reading them? You should know better."

"It's not like they provided a Braille copy," Nyssa pointed out. Sera acknowledged this with a grimace, but then sat up straighter.

"That's it!" she exclaimed. "I'm sure there are ADA guidelines that was a violation of. They gave you a contract to sign that you physically couldn't read. I can file a discrimination suit against them." Nyssa chuckled and shook her head.

"You're sweet, but no. I'm not going to go begging for my job back, and I don't need a settlement." Reaching down, she scratched between Darshan's ears. The dog was never far from her, usually right at her feet, and paying close attention to those around her even when he appeared to be relaxed. "Besides… in a way, it's kind of freeing. I'm not hiding who I am anymore, and I don't have to worry now that what I do will affect Phoenix Rising. My options are wide open."

"Except for all the people who won't work with you or hire you because you're Enhanced. Or blind," Micaela contributed.

"Well, am I superhuman, or disabled? Make up your mind!" Nyssa teased with a grin.

"Obviously, it's possible to be both," Rani pointed out. Sera leaned forward and leveled a knowing stare in Nyssa's direction.

"You already know what you're going to do next, don't you?" she said accusingly. Nyssa shrugged.

"I have some ideas. Not necessarily a plan. Mostly, I'm going to be training a dog," she said casually, taking a drink of the sparkling fruit juice Micaela had served her.

"And what else?" Sera said suspiciously. "You have that look again."

"What look?" Nyssa tried to school her expression into something more innocent. "I don't know what you're talking about." Sera set her drink down and folded her arms over her chest, giving Nyssa a hard look. Nyssa held her hands up. "Things have already been set in motion. I don't know where it's going, but I know I'm going to see it through."

"You just take care not to do something that lands you on any government watchlists," Sera muttered. Nyssa smiled benignly.

"I'm pretty sure I'm already there."

* * *

"You're sure?" Steve said seriously, skimming the report in his hands. Natasha nodded.

"I've scouted each site. This has to be the one she's in," she explained.

"Oh, is that where you've been the past week?" Bucky asked pointedly. "We were starting to wonder if you were coming back." She glanced at him coolly but didn't rise to his baiting. Steve gave him a disapproving look, his eyes asking why he was so hostile towards the female ex-assassin. Bucky hadn't felt inclined to explain, but Steve's censure did sting a little. While still not inclined to trust her, maybe he didn't have to take every opportunity to antagonize her. She had yet to prove him right.

"It isn't very heavily guarded, they mostly rely on its location to protect it," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "It's in a valley, here, surrounded by mountains and miles from any prying eyes." She pulled up a three-dimensional map on the display, already adept at using the Wakandan tech. "However, it does have some heavy artillery in case of discovery. There are missile launchers here, here and here, fully capable of taking down an aircraft." Her fingers flew deftly over the map, pulling up new features as she mentioned them. "It also has heavy shielding that I suspect is mostly to keep what's inside contained, though it will make it somewhat challenging to get in as well."

"Is that where my mom is?" All three of them jumped as Felix's question came from the doorway, and they turned to face him. Natasha quickly drew her finger along the side of the display, making the images crumble and vanish. "You guys found where she is?"

"We think so," Steve admitted. "And I promise you, we'll bring her back here, safe and sound." Felix frowned at him, his head slowly starting to shake back and forth.

"No, I'm coming with you. You promised I could come with you!" he protested.

"I promised you I'd help you find her," Steve corrected. "And I have, and I will bring her back to you. But this mission could be dangerous. The last thing I want-" He subsided under Felix's withering glare.

"Dangerous?" the teen repeated derisively. "Funny, that's the word they used to describe me. Too powerful to be killed, too dangerous to be freed. Do you really think the  _mission_  is more dangerous than I am?" Steve sighed.

"Look, son, I understand you wanting to help save your mother. I would just really hate for something to happen to you…" he started.

"Excuse me?" Bucky interrupted. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. Steve swiveled his head to look at his oldest friend. "Steve, are you telling him to stay here and collect scrap metal in his little red wagon?" Steve's cheeks started to turn pink.

"Buck, this is a little different," he protested. Bucky nodded emphatically.

"Oh, it's very different. He's a way more powerful fighter than you were. And you still insisted on fighting half of Brooklyn." Bucky sauntered closer. "This one mission means everything to him. Are you, of all people, really going to tell him he can't go?" Steve looked hesitantly from Bucky to Felix and back again. With a resolute nod, he turned the display back on. Felix's eyes widened as the valley appeared, the sturdy bunker crouched malevolently at the base of jagged mountains.

"Okay, so here's the perimeter," Steve started to explain, outlining it with a finger. "This is what we're going to do…"


	48. Truth and Hope

Nyssa contacted seven different trainers before she was able to find one that she both liked and that was willing to work with her. She understood her request was unorthodox. After the first two-hour session, she was convinced that she had made the right decision, both in her canine companion and the woman she had found to train them. Darshan was a quick learner, especially given Nyssa's ability to convey what she wanted directly into his brain. She found that she was learning almost more from the canine than she was teaching him. Connecting with him allowed her to experience the world through his senses, and she was amazed at the nuance and information he could glean from smells and sounds that were generally beyond the range of her own perception. The trainer, Erin, was both impressed and astonished at the rate at which both of her pupils picked up the skills she was teaching them. She gave them homework and added them to her schedule twice a week for the next three months before she left. Nyssa was going through some of the commands they had learned with Darshan when there was a knock at her door. On the other side, a woman stood, resolute and determined.

"Dr. Taylor?" she asked as Nyssa opened the door. Nyssa nodded, and the woman extended her hand towards her. "My name is Angela Riggs. Can I come in?" Nyssa shook the woman's hand warmly.

"Was there an issue with the flowers I sent?" she asked, stepping aside to let the woman in. "The florist usually does a lovely job."

"No, they were beautiful," Angela assured her. "But the card that came with them made it sound like…" She took a deep breath, hesitance putting the brakes on her determination. "Um, were you with him when he died?" Nyssa stood very still, wondering if she was about to be accused of something scandalous.

"I was," she confirmed.

"Then maybe you could answer a few questions for me," Angela said, the words more a demand than a request. "I can't get anyone from his department to tell me what happened. I just keep being told it was classified. I don't know how he died. I don't know why he died. All I know is that he looked like he'd been through hell." Her voice faltered, grief thickening her throat. Nyssa took a calming breath and gestured towards her couch.

"Please, sit down, Mrs. Riggs. If it's the truth you're looking for, you're in the right place."

* * *

They landed about half a mile outside the perimeter, relying on their aircraft's stealth technology to conceal their approach. The path they had chosen was the shortest route between the mountains, but that didn't make it easy. The terrain was steep, rocky and unforgiving. Wanda gave up trying to hike it about halfway up, using her powers instead to propel herself above the rocks. Natasha glided ahead of them, her feet finding the least treacherous footing. Just slightly behind her, Steve and Bucky worked methodically, climbing up the nearly-vertical landscape. Halfway up the slope, the stone cracked under Bucky's foot, skittering away down the side of the hill. He sank his metal fist into the rocks, creating a new handhold just in time to keep himself from bouncing down the side of the mountain. He glanced down quickly and regretted it, realizing how high up they already were. A few meters to his right, even Steve was out of breath.

Trailing behind them, Felix was struggling to keep up, but never complained. He had already lost purchase several times on the sheer mountainside, and his knees were dark with dirt and his face was scratched. His palm was sliced open when he grabbed at a sharp rock to keep himself from falling, and bloody handprints marked his journey up the side of the mountain. He grabbed the nearest stone to pull himself up further, but his blood made it slippery, and the next thing he knew, he was skidding down the incline at high velocity. His descent halted abruptly. He looked up through the ruby haze at Wanda, who was watching him with hands outstretched and a pucker of concentration between her eyebrows. Wanda floated him up closer to the group, setting him down on a rocky outcropping over their heads. Natasha met him there, first aid kit in hand.

"Let me wrap up that hand," she suggested. Felix shook his head, although all color had fled his face during his brief plunge down the slope.

"I'm fine," he argued.

"Maybe so, but the blood will make it harder to hold on," Natasha pointed out. "If we get it bandaged up, you'll be able to get a better grip."

"Okay," Felix relented, holding out his hand. The others caught up with him as she cleaned and bandaged the gash on his hand. He looked at them warily, watching for a hint of disapproval or disappointment. Steve's handsome features showed only concern and relief, while Bucky's more stoic expression held a hint of respect. "I'm not trying to slow us down," he vowed.

"You're fine," Steve dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I could use a breather myself." Felix eyed him somewhat suspiciously. Steve had recovered his breath within a minute of arriving on flatter ground. "How much further up are we climbing?"

"About five more meters," Natasha answered, pointing her finger upwards. "There's an outcropping there that goes around the side. Then we just have to get down into the valley without drawing any attention."

"So, no flying for me then, I suppose," Wanda suggested ruefully.

"Unless you can also turn invisible, probably not," Natasha returned. Wanda's expression turned thoughtful.

"Can you really?" Steve said sardonically. Wanda shrugged.

"Haven't tried before. I'm not entirely sure I can, at this range. But I'll definitely practice once we get back."

* * *

They made it around the side and down without any further major mishaps, and soon were creeping towards the squat, concrete building that held the prize they were after. Felix spotted the power generator, broad and powerful, nearly as tall as the building itself. He sprinted towards it.

"Felix, wait!" Wanda called, but the teen was in a hurry and focused on his target. Arriving at the side of it, he pressed his hands against the cool metal. The low hum suddenly turned into a high-pitched whine. A moment later, a shockwave exploded out from within the generator as he overloaded it, sweeping swiftly through the valley. He heard a chorus of dismayed cries and turned around to see his teammates picking themselves up off the ground.

"Jumped the gun a little on that, kid," Natasha informed him, brushing the dirt off her skintight fighting suit. Her comment proved itself correct in the next moment, with the shouts of the guards now alerted to their presence. They came pounding out of the two exits, weapons at the ready as they fired at their attackers. Wanda was suddenly beside him, creating a scarlet bubble around them that deflected the bullets away. With her other hand, she pulled rocks and small boulders from the mountainsides around them, hurling them at the men pouring out of the bunker. Several of them ducked, faltered, and a few were knocked out. Natasha was already weaving among them, moving so smoothly and silently that by the time they saw she was coming for them, it was already too late.

Steve already had his shield up, and Bucky stepped in closer for the protection, swearing in Russian as he fired at the approaching enemy with only his right hand. Steve glanced aside at him.

"You get hit?" he asked with concern, scanning his friend for signs of mortal wounds. Bucky shook his head.

"That shockwave knocked my arm out," he snarled, glancing down at the useless appendage in frustration. He didn't have too much time to reflect on the sudden handicap, as the adversary was nearly upon them. He emptied the magazine into the oncoming foes, satisfied that each shot hit its mark. With an internal click, the sensation suddenly flowed back into his metal arm, and he found that he could move it again. As the next wave of assailants came towards them, Steve went right as Bucky went left. They moved in a circle around the group. Steve led with his shield but followed up with powerful punches and kicks as he went. Bucky tended to lead with his fist, sometimes with the knife, at least when they were in close quarters. His weapon of choice remained in his hip holster, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. But projectile weapons weren't his first choice when his opponent was mere inches away. He felt a sense of satisfaction as, one by one, they were felled by his blows. Steve was about fifty feet away, cutting his own swath through the men defending their installation. A group of three in the middle seemed torn as to whether to go after Steve or Bucky. Steve settled the matter for them by hurling the shield at them. It ricocheted off two of their heads, dropping them, then sailed over to Bucky, who caught it handily and sent it sailing back in Steve's direction, clipping the last man standing under the chin. He staggered backwards and fell, blood trickling down his neck.

Seven minutes had passed since they had first engaged the enemy, but already the dust was settling over the bodies strewn on the ground. Wanda herded Felix back to the group. He was looking at all of them with wide eyes.

"Felix," Steve said, making an effort to keep his tone even. "Next time we go over a plan, it's important that we stick to it, okay? You were supposed to wait until we got into position before you blew the generator."

"Okay," Felix quickly agreed, the awed expression on his face becoming slightly more subdued. "But that was awesome! You guys just… kicked all the ass!" Steve and Bucky exchanged glances at the odd turn of phrase.

"But we still need to stick with the plan," Steve emphasized. "Stick close by Wanda. We don't need too many more surprises." Some of the exhilaration faded from Felix's expression.

"Fine," he mumbled, and fell into line behind Wanda.

The doors were still open, the halls within dark. They traversed single-file, past control rooms and shielded rooms strewn with testing equipment. The hallway abruptly ended at a set of double doors, closed, locked and barred. Wanda stepped to the forefront. Holding her hand an inch from the door's metal surface, she threaded wisps of scarlet energy through the door's locking mechanism. With a series of metallic clunks, the doors swung open. On the other side, a handful of guards waited. They were quickly dispatched by shield, fist and Natasha's shocking rounds. They were in a long corridor, lined with doors every ten feet. Natasha found two sets of keys on a pair of unconscious guards. Bucky glanced over at Felix. The boy's face was pale, but his eyes were bright with hope. There were no windows, no way to look into the rooms with all systems down.

"Nat, with me. We'll start with the furthest door on the right. You three start on the far left," Steve instructed. The first room was unlocked and empty, though it held signs it had recently been inhabited. The second contained the form of a scarred and mutilated man, his body still warm. Bucky checked for a pulse but found none. Wanda tried to block Felix's view, but he pushed past to catch a glimpse. His expression grew disturbed.

"Steve, anything?" Bucky called.

"Maybe. Not his mother, though," Steve replied, looking down at the barely-breathing form at his feet. "But we still have five more doors to go." Felix brightened incrementally, a sliver of hope returning.

The next room contained another male, this one hairless and scarred but still moving, still visibly breathing. When the door opened, he looked up with dread and fear on his face. Not recognizing them, his expression turned to confusion. Bucky extended his hand to him.

"Time to leave," he said simply. The man's affect changed, suddenly suffused with disbelieving hope. He took Bucky's hand and let him pull him to his feet. Felix cleared his throat from behind him, trying to hurry him to check the next cell. With a half-suppressed sigh, he nodded to the man they had just rescued, and moved on.

The next room held a more feminine form. She, too, was bereft of any hair, her skin riddled with Lichtenberg scars. She looked up, her expression blank, blue eyes filled with suffering. Bucky glanced over at Felix, who was staring at her with a nervous crease between his eyebrows, expression uncertain.

"Mom?" he said tentatively, taking a couple steps toward her. "Mom, it's me." The woman stared at him, but there was no recognition in her eyes. Bucky flinched inwardly. To have come this far and gone through so much, only to find that she no longer remembered him…

"Felix?" They all turned to see another woman standing just outside the door to the cell. Like the other woman, her skin was bare save for darkened Lichtenberg figures traversing all visible flesh, dressed only in a plain shirt and shorts. Unlike the other woman, she was staring at Felix with recognition, and love, and disbelieving hope beyond hope. Behind her, Natasha was standing with a small smile. Felix's face lit up, and he quickly closed the distance between them.

"Mom!" he cried, tears of joy and relief rolling down his face as she wrapped her arms around him and held him close. The others kept a respectful distance, allowing them time and space for their reunion.

"Is that everyone?" Bucky asked Steve quietly. The blond man nodded, looking around at the three men and two women they had liberated. They were all thin, scarred and grim, worn down by years of torture and terror. This was not the jubilant liberation told of in epic tales. But thanks to the renegade Avengers, they could remember how to live again.

"Hawkeye, we're ready for pickup," Steve called over the radio. "We'll have ten coming back."

"Copy that," Hawkeye responded over the radio. "Sounds like the mission was a success." Steve looked at Felix and his mother still holding each other and smiled.

"That's an affirmative," he replied, glancing over at Bucky, who couldn't take his eyes off the reunited family. He was familiar with the satisfaction of a mission completed, an efficient kill. He vaguely recalled the triumph of battles won, back when he was part of the Howling Commandos. But all of that paled in comparison to this. His heart swelled, and for a moment he forgot that he was just a killer.

He could get used to this.


	49. Shine On

"This is WNEX, and you're listening to Trish Talk. For those of you just joining us, we are talking today with Dr. Nyssa Taylor. Dr. Taylor, before we went to commercial, you were talking about something you feel is missing from the Accords?"

"Yes, thank you, Trish. The Accords outline in detail what the expectations are for the Avengers and for those who are considered "Enhanced." What is never mentioned is any programs that were responsible for those who are Enhanced. Now, everyone in that category comes by their powers, so to speak, in a different way. Some, like myself, are born with them. Some have a freak accident. Some are created by the government. And some are created by less than scrupulous corporations or organizations that seek to take advantage of them. There are no penalties outlined in the Accords for unauthorized or unethical human experimentation. And there really should be, because in many cases they did not obtain consent from their subjects beforehand, or they took advantage of a person in a vulnerable situation who may not have seen the full consequences of their decision, or who didn't understand everything that was going to be done to them. They are often given their abilities through traumatic means, scarred both visibly and invisibly. Sometimes the abilities themselves can even kill them. But the Accords speaks to none of that."

"So what you're saying is, the Accords puts regulations on those who are Enhanced, but no regulations on those who made them that way?" Trish clarified.

"Yes, exactly. And it is not uncommon, especially in times of turmoil, for a particular group of people to have fingers pointed at them and blamed for the ills of society. In this case, it might seem silly to label the Enhanced as the underdog, since many of them do have abilities that are beyond what the average human can do, but often they are part of marginalized and vulnerable populations, and the Accords further marginalizes them. It is a mistake to assume that, simply because they might have abilities that others don't have, they will use them in a way that will be harmful to society. Most of them have had trauma upon trauma, and if anything, they need guidance and support, not further alienation." Nyssa hoped she wasn't rambling as much as she felt like she was. She was used to public speaking but being on the radio was something altogether different. The microphone in front of her offered no response. She couldn't get immediate emotional feedback from the audience as she was used to. She couldn't even tell who was listening. Trish was seated across from her, and so far, it seemed she was approving of their conversation. Darshan, curled up on top of her feet in the studio, seemed mostly disinterested in the conversation but was content just to have her near.

"So would you say that Enhanced persons are not a threat, then?" Trish challenged. Nyssa chuckled.

"I think it's dangerous to make assumptions either way about a person's intentions based only on one aspect of who they are," she elucidated. "It is a mistake to assume they are automatically a threat. It is also a mistake to dismiss them as harmless. People get so hung up on the "super" in "superhuman" that they forget that they are also human. It is best to take them on a case by case basis, just like any other person. I prefer to assume that they are not going to use their powers for evil unless they prove otherwise. Innocent until proven guilty, and so forth."

"If we are going on a case by case basis, would you care to weigh in on some of our local heroes?" Trish challenged. "Spiderman, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?"

"I think in most cases, their actions speak for themselves," Nyssa replied. "All that I've ever heard is of them stopping someone from harming others. In my mind, that puts them solidly in the "hero" camp. The Devil and Mr. Cage in particular seem to have a very strict code of ethics that they abide by."

"But are they a  _threat_?" Trish emphasized slightly. Nyssa knew why so much emphasis was on the word. There had been many headlines recently questioning the relative threat level of any Enhanced person who had not signed the Accords, and many discussions of their possible loyalties and relative dangerousness.

"That probably depends on the rest of the question," she said drolly. "A threat to who? To those who break the law or try to harm others, highly likely. A threat to those in power that have gotten there through evil means? Quite possibly. A threat to the general populace and the community? No, I don't think so. And why would they be? Trish, everyone gets so hung up on these superpowers, but all of us have abilities that not everyone has. There have always been people much faster than average, much stronger than average, people who can do things that others can't, who have talents that others don't. That's not a bad thing. It helps us complement each other. Most of us already live our lives among people who, if they were inclined, have the capability, the capacity, to kill us. They don't, not because they can't, but because they don't want to. For most of us, it would never even occur to us. We value life. For someone who can run faster, jump higher, hit harder, it doesn't mean they automatically become more violent. To use one of your local examples, the only way one would presume that a bulletproof man is a threat, is if one were starting with the assumption that he will need to be shot. Which rather says more about the person making the assumption than it does about the bulletproof man." There was a long moment of dead air as Trish was caught off guard by Nyssa's ruminations.

"That's a good point," she managed finally. Nyssa nodded, though only Trish could see the gesture.

"A lot of it comes back to what I said earlier, about being so focused on the super that we forget the human. Because they are still human. We are still human. Who and what we are exists only in relationship to other people. There is a reason that nearly every culture has used isolation as a punishment, and why it's effective as a punishment. We all seek to be seen, to be heard, to be a part of something. Much of what I can do relies on my ability to see energy, to sense energy. Every emotional response we have as humans is a movement of the energy within us. Anger explodes outwards. Happiness buoys up. Sadness draws inwards. Grief collapses. When tragedy strikes, sometimes we just can't get up, we can't move on at first. And that may seem like a weakness or a flaw, but that's by design. That's a part of what we are. We are meant to carry each other. We are always stronger together than we are by ourselves. Even the strongest, most Enhanced person needs other people. And I think the only persons we should be concerned about are those who have forgotten that."

"That's a very good point," Trish said. "Even superheroes need their sidekicks." Nyssa chuckled.

"I'm not really talking about superheroes and sidekicks, though," she mused. "A person doesn't have to be Enhanced or have super powers to make a difference in people's lives. I know many people that I consider to be heroes, and they don't fall under the Accords' jurisdiction. See, when darkness comes, you don't waste time looking for the brightest, most powerful light you can find. Any light will do. When you're surrounded by darkness, you only need a little spark, the faintest hope. Maybe you only feel your light is a flashlight, or a penlight, or even a candle. I would be so bold as to say, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how bright or how dim you think you are, shine. Because when the darkness comes, we are going to need all the light we can get." There was a heartbeat or two of silence as Trish let the point sink in. Then she jumped back in.

"And on that slightly morbid note," she concluded. "We are going to take calls. If any of you out there have a question or a comment for Dr. Taylor, go ahead and call…." Nyssa took a moment to adjust her headphones and reach into her pocket for a treat for Darshan as Trish recited the station's number and announced the jump to commercial.

The lines were immediately flooded with people wanting to take questions or make comments. The first couple callers just wanted to argue with her about whether Enhanced were a threat to society. She had anticipated that, and didn't really mind, as she felt her arguments were strong, and she hoped to make a point to those who might be listening and thinking the same things. The third caller was hesitant to tell the call screener what they were calling about, so Trish had to pick the call up blind.

"Hello, you're on the air with Trish," she greeted them. "What question do you have for Dr. Taylor today?"

"Well, it's not really a question," came the voice from the other end of the line. "I just wanted to tell her thank you. Seven years ago, I was about to jump off the George Washington bridge. You probably don't remember. I had just lost my job, my girlfriend left me, and I just didn't see that I had any options. You talked me down and helped me see hope again, then made sure I got to the hospital to get help. Now, I have an even better job, and my wife and I are expecting a baby in November. I just wanted you to know that you made a difference, and you were right. Life was still worth living."

"I'm so very glad to hear that you're doing well, Tom," Nyssa said with a grin. "That construction company and Emily weren't worth giving up your life for, after all." There was a short laugh of disbelief on the end of the line.

"Wow, you do remember," he said in surprise.

"Yes, of course," she replied, grinning broadly. "Thank you so much for calling in."

"We'll take a few more calls right after a few words from our sponsors," Trish announced, switching over to the prerecorded commercials. She stretched for a moment and watched Nyssa curiously. "His story must have been pretty memorable, for you to remember it all these years later." Nyssa shrugged.

"Not any moreso than usual," she admitted. "But I remember all of them."

* * *

Seraphina was waiting in Nyssa's apartment when she got home from an extended training session with Darshan. Sprawled on her back on the couch, she had her legs slung casually over the cushions. The dog was almost as used to her as he was to Nyssa and didn't react to her presence.

"Nice interview on the radio yesterday," she commented. "Does everything you touch go like wildfire now?" Nyssa tilted her head towards her in confusion.

"Maybe? If you explain what you're talking about, I might be able to give you a more specific answer," she informed her friend in bemusement.

"Oh, so you didn't organize a demonstration in Central Park tonight?" Sera challenged. Nyssa slowly shook her head.

"No, that wasn't me. Believe it or not, I'm not the only troublemaker in this city," she replied cheekily. Sera snorted.

"You have that widget that lets you connect directly to the internet," she reminded her friend. "Don't you ever use it?" Nyssa sighed.

"I've been trying not to," she admitted. "It's too easy to get sucked into an internet vortex, and often the arguments and debates are about me or… people like me. I've been staying away for my own sanity." Sera shrugged.

"Fair enough, but this event is one you really should check out," Sera urged. Nyssa hesitated.

"Darshan still gets nervous in huge crowds of people," she hedged. "I don't think it would be a good idea…"

"So leave him home, for once," Sera argued, unfazed. "I'll be with you. I promise not to let you run into any lamp posts or park benches." She stood up and grabbed Nyssa by the hand. "You really should see this. It's what you've been building, after all."

* * *

Nyssa had been expecting a few handfuls of people to be gathering at the park, maybe a hundred as a high estimate. She was certainly unprepared for the streams of people converging on the Mall, moving in swirls of eddies and currents before washing ashore by the Naumburg Bandshell, where several hundred had already gathered. Seraphina was almost giddy.

"Lots of people brought signs. 'Superhuman are still human,' 'Amend the Accords,' 'I'll carry you'," she read out loud. "Who knew you were so quotable? Lots of them just say 'Shine.' And everyone brought lights. Flashlights, light wands, candles, fun light-up apps on their phones. I wish you could see it." Nyssa smiled. She couldn't see the lights they had brought with them, but she could see the hundreds of gathered souls shining brightly, their energy coalescing, reinforcing each other, amplifying together. It seemed to intensify as more people arrived. She both saw and felt the shock of recognition as a few of those nearby spotted her. She tried to ignore them and continued flowing with the river of humanity towards the bandshell.

Someone had brought a PA, and as they drew closer, they could hear a woman talking as she paced along the edge of the stage, revving the crowd up. Behind her, at the back of the stage, Angela Riggs stood with nervous determination.

"It's misdirection! They want to divide us, turn us against our heroes, the ones who saved us, the ones who will save us again! But we're not going to let them, are we?" The crowd roared agreement. "Marcus Riggs died to protect the Enhanced. They wanted us to forget him, but we won't! If he can give his life to protect them, the least we can do is protect them, and remember him!" The crowd cheered again. The woman with the microphone started to say something else, but then stopped as someone jumped up on the stage next to her and whispered something in her ear. She chuckled into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have an unexpected visitor tonight! Dr. Nyssa Taylor has joined us!" Everyone cheered, looking around to see where she was. The crowd grew louder as more of them spotted her, and Nyssa took a step backwards as she found herself drawing more attention than she expected. "Dr. Taylor, would you care to take the stage?" The crowd parted before her like the Red Sea, and she found her feet carrying her forward before the intention had even registered. She reached the stage and the woman extended her hand, pulling her up onto the stage with her. The quick touch told her the woman's name was Sibylle Weaver, and she had been the main organizer behind this event. A microphone was pressed into her hand, and Nyssa looked out over the crowd, which had swelled to over two thousand. She was no stranger to public speaking, though usually she had time to prepare a speech ahead of time. Usually, she was asking them for money. She did not have any particular agenda tonight. For a moment, she just looked out over the ethereal glow of thousands of people united in intention and purpose. She smiled and raised the microphone to her mouth.

"I see you, New York," she said. The crowd cheered in response. She waited until their screams subsided, and continued. "I see your strength." More cheers. "I see your conviction." Roars. "I see your courage." Screams and applause. Nyssa grinned and walked to the other side of the stage. "It's laughable, really. They thought they could tell a New Yorker who they are supposed to be afraid of?" Cheers and laughter. "Did they think we were going to forget the last time? When they were going to blow us all up, and the Avengers saved us and still saved the rest of the planet? They decided we were expendable. They don't see the light in each and every one of you. But I do. I know you are all capable of greatness. You don't have to be an Avenger to use your voice, to let your light shine, to lift each other up."

"We all need somebody to le-e-ean on!" A group of three girls in the front row chorused. Nyssa grinned in their direction.

"That's right," she agreed, and lifted the microphone a little higher. "Some-times in our lives, we all have pain, we all have so-o-rrow…" The crowd fell silent as she burst into song, taken by surprise at her vocal talent. By the end of the verse, they were cheering again, and then joined her when she reached the chorus. She pointed the microphone at them and let them sing instead. With their joined voices, came their joy and vitality. She reveled in it, awash in the energy of thousands all focused on her. The song ended, and the crowd cheered louder than ever.

"Thank you, New York!" she called out. They screamed their approval, then fell silent as she raised a finger to her lips. The wind rustled through the leaves of the trees in the Mall. "I will admit, it hasn't been easy since I went public about who and what I really am. There is a lot of fear out there that creates extra hurdles for those who have been labeled as Enhanced. Now, I'm not concerned about myself. I still carry a lot of privilege that others don't. If it's happened to me, I guarantee it's happened to others. So watch out for your fellow humans, of all varieties. Call out injustice when you see it. Write to your representatives, ask that protections be put in place. Guard against those who would exploit others to turn them into weapons. Hold those with greater powers to high standards, certainly. And ask them to amend the Accords, so we can bring all the Avengers home! They saved us all, so don't we owe them that much, at least? To let them come home?" The crowd roared their agreement and approval. Nyssa tried to hand the microphone back to Sibylle, but the crowd protested.

"Encore! Encore!" They chanted.

"Did you guys want one more song?" she asked the crowd, and they cheered in the affirmative. Nyssa sauntered back out to the front of the stage and raised the microphone to her lips. A hush fell over everyone gathered there, waiting. Nyssa closed her eyes, going back in her mind to a simpler time, when she would listen to her father playing songs he wrote for her on his guitar.

"Inside each heart, a battle's fought/ Between the darkness and the light/ With every action, every thought/ What you choose decides the fight," she sang. The crowd had mostly fallen silent, listening intently, though a few appreciative whistles came from the back of the crowd. She was half-surprised at the sound of guitar joining her voice, as the musicians from the local band that had been hanging at the back of the stage picked up on the melody. She gave them a delighted look over her shoulder before launching into the chorus. "So shine oooon/ Honor the light within, Shine oooon/ don't let the darkness win/ Shine oooon/Don't be afraid of what you are/Shine oooon/You'll be someone's shining star." The crowd was starting to pick up on the beat, and the guitar melody was now punctuated by clapping hands and stomping feet. She encouraged them by putting her hands together for the brief interlude before the second verse. "Listen to your heart's whispers/It will always guide you true/If you can't see the light at the end of your tunnel/Maybe the light is you. So shine oooon…" More people than she expected joined in as she reached the chorus.

They had almost reached the end when a sudden, thunderous noise cut her off, startling Nyssa mid-note. Her first instinct was that it was a bomb, and she flinched, almost dropping the mic. The crowd seemed just as surprised, but what fear she sensed quickly faded and turned into amazement. She realized that the noise had been someone at the back of the crowd had set off fireworks. After a few startled moments, she resumed singing. As the last notes died away, the throng turned into a stampede as the police converged on the crowd. The confusion quickly turned to panic as people scattered. Nyssa watched the proceedings with dismay, and was surprised when a handful of officers even approached the stage. They surrounded Sibylle. She was scolding them for violating her constitutional rights as they escorted her from the stage, hands cuffed behind her. Nyssa calmly turned to face the two officers who approached her, holding her hands up to show she had no weapons and meant no harm. The next thing she knew, she was face down on the cold cement of the bandshell, her hands being roughly forced into handcuffs. This was certainly not the way she expected the evening to end.


	50. Killers, Rapists, Telepaths and Thieves

A little more than an hour later, Nyssa was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the crowded communal holding cell. Many of the others in with her were agitated, pacing, yelling at the officers visible from the cell. A few were under the influence. Several had been there many times before, and even knew the officers by name. But a great many of them had been swept up at the demonstration, and most had never run afoul of the law before. A slight young lady sat down on the floor a few feet away from Nyssa, rocking slightly back and forth. Anxiety and fear radiated from her. Nyssa could hear the ragged breathing that revealed that she had been crying, or was about to. She buried her head in her hands. Nyssa edged closer and put a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. She lifted her head and glanced at her, first in apprehension, then in surprise.

"You're… you're Dr. Taylor," she stammered. "They got you, too?" Nyssa smiled gently at her.

"Indeed," she agreed. "Even I am not immune."

"But how, how are you so calm?" the woman asked wonderingly. "We're in  _jail._ They're going to charge us, and I'm going to lose my scholarship and drop out of college, and I don't even know how I'm going to tell my parents, they're going to be so disappointed in me, I've let so many people down…" She stopped her nervous rambling as Nyssa took her hands in hers.

"Take a deep breath," she encouraged, "and let it out slowly. You're thinking of the worst case scenario. They might not charge you with anything. This may not effect your college at all. And you can tell your parents that you were just standing up for what you believed in. Sometimes what is legal is not the same thing as what is right. Do you believe me?" The other woman nodded hesitantly.

"I just… I've never been arrested before. I never even went to the principal's office!" she stage whispered to Nyssa. "And some of the people in here are a little…" She glanced around nervously and didn't finish her statement.

"When I'm feeling stressed out and overwhelmed, sometimes it helps to take a few minutes to center myself. Here, sit like me, with your legs crossed," Nyssa instructed. The other woman shifted her body to follow Nyssa's instructions. "Now drop your shoulders down, let them relax, and take a deep breath in…" She noticed a few others start to pay attention to her words, some of them even moving closer to hear better. She let a slow breath out and pitched her voice to carry. "Let it out slowly. Check in with your body…"

* * *

"Hey, Mort, check this out. This has to be a first." The officer at the booking desk, Jared Mortensen, looked up as one of the guards watching the holding cell gestured him over. Curious, he got up and came to see what they were staring at. He frowned at the sight in confusion.

"What the hell?" he said out loud, half to himself. Almost everyone in the holding cell was seated on the floor, legs crossed, eyes closed. They were all facing the same direction, except for one woman at the far end who was facing them. He recognized her; her face had been all over the news recently, and she had been in the police station on a few occasions, usually advocating for a client who was either filing a report, witness to a crime or being held for questioning. It seemed odd to see her behind bars. It was even stranger to watch her lead some kind of group meditation, as if she were in a yoga studio rather than in the holding cell of a police station. There were a couple people not participating: one passed out on the bench on the far end, and another who kept pacing back and forth in front of the bars, aiming death glares in the general direction of the police. Every once in a while, he would slap his hand against the bars, making them ring dully in the relative silence of the holding cell. A few of those seated seemed startled by the noise.

"Notice the sounds and then bring your attention back to center," the woman spoke. Her voice was quiet but somehow still filled the room. "The stillness does not lie in what is happening around you. The stillness is within. Take a deep breath in…" The group all seemed to inhale in unison, and the fascinated police officers drew in a breath as well.

"Oh, yeah. My wife takes yoga classes down at her center, Phoenix Rising. Except I guess she stepped down and isn't in charge of that anymore," Rookie volunteered. "That's the Angel. The New York Angel." Slade, a greying officer two years from retirement, snorted.

"Yeah, right. Fallen Angel's more like it," he grumbled. "I don't care who she is, she ain't above the law." Mort shook his head.

"I dunno, guys," he said dubiously. "She's helped a lot of people. It doesn't seem like she'd be involved in something shady."

"I guess you never really know people," Slade said with a shrug. Rookie glanced at him dubiously.

"Oh, yeah, she looks like a hardened criminal now," he said sarcastically.

* * *

Seraphina Grey strode across the floor of the 18th precinct, green eyes flashing. She pushed her way into the police chief's office without knocking, and didn't wait for him to hang up the phone before she let him have it.

"I gotta say, Gonzalez, I'm astonished at how easily your boys can lose a person. This is the third precinct I've checked, and nobody seems to know where she is. As her lawyer, I demand to know what she is being charged with. If it's nothing, then I want her released," she commanded.

"Let me call you back," Chief Gonzalez said sourly to the person on the other end of his phone call and hung up. He leaned forward and leveled a glare at the woman who had so rudely intruded into his office. "We picked up a lot of people tonight, Ms. Grey. You'll have to be more specific."

"You know who I mean," Seraphina countered. "At least three people recorded her arrest, and it's gone viral. If you don't track her down and release her, you're going to have an ugly PR mess on your hands. And if you can't tell me any legitimate reasons as to why she was arrested in the first place, I will make sure to add a legal mess to that as well. I have three judges in my contacts I could call right now for a writ of habeas corpus." From the Chief's surly expression, he was well aware of the videos circulating online of the demonstration and arrests.

"Disturbing the peace," he said gruffly. "Resisting arrest." Seraphina rolled her eyes.

"The video shows quite clearly that she was not resisting. And she was merely speaking at a peaceful demonstration, exercising her first amendment rights," she pointed out.

"A demonstration that nobody pulled permits for, nobody notified Community Affairs about. A demonstration that featured an illegal fireworks display," he fired back.

"None of which have anything to do with my client," Seraphina replied archly. "She happened to be in the park at the time. So was I. She was not one of the organizers and was not aware that no permits had been obtained. What were you going to do, arrest everyone who showed up to Central Park?"

"As many as we could, yeah. We'll sort the details and the charges out later," he growled. "She'll be processed with the rest of them."

"You have no legitimate charges. She has a right to legal counsel. If she's here…" Sera stopped as Gonzalez shook his head.

"Believe me, I'd know if she was here. Let me make a couple phone calls."

* * *

"Taylor, Nyssa," one of the guards called as he swung the door to the holding pen open. Most of its occupants had been processed by now; she was one of the last. She reached out and let the cold iron bars guide her along the wall to the open door. After the long night dealing with an excessive volume of detainees, they were less than gentle as they fingerprinted her and took mugshots. They were about to return her to lockup when a call came in for Nyssa. She took the phone, surprised.

"Hello?" she said hesitantly.

"Oh, thank god. Are you okay? Have they been mistreating you? You haven't been taken in for questioning yet, have you? Don't say anything to them until I get there. Don't talk to them without me present." Sera's relief was evident in her rapid-fire questions.

"I'm fine. I haven't said anything. I don't recall giving you a retainer," Nyssa replied. She could imagine her friend waving a dismissive hand on the other end of the line.

"We can work those details out later. I figured you weren't using Roxanne anymore since she was counsel for Phoenix Rising, not you personally."

"Well, I've never needed a lawyer  _personally_  before," Nyssa returned dryly.

"I'll be down there in twenty minutes. It's been a shell game trying to find you. Apparently they arrested so many people at the demonstration that they were taken to seven different precincts."

"Before you come here, can you take Darshan out and feed him?" Nyssa requested. "It's been almost ten hours."

"Jesus, Nyssa, you're in lockup and all you're worried about is your damn dog?" Sera sounded both surprised and frustrated.

"Let's just say I feel even more sympathy for him now, since both of us have to be let out to use the bathroom," Nyssa replied, not without humor. Sera sighed.

"Fine, give me thirty minutes, then."

* * *

The interview room was cold. Nyssa wrapped her arms around herself, waiting. The officer sitting across from her eyed her impatiently, his irritation palpable in the room. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, and Nyssa wished she could read it to see what time it was. The door to the room finally banged open, and Sera breezed in with her briefcase.

"Okay, we can start now," she said as she seated herself beside Nyssa. "I assume we haven't started yet."

"No, ma'am," Officer Sarno said acridly. He shuffled the papers in front of him. "This is something of a unique situation. We are prepared to offer your client a deal…"

"She hasn't even been formally charged, and in any case, she is not guilty," Sera cut him off. "We aren't going to do a plea bargain."

"Not a plea bargain," Sarno denied with a shake of his head. "This is a deal where we drop charges entirely. There won't even be anything on her record." Sera tilted her head to the side.

"In exchange for what?" she asked skeptically. Sarno sighed, shifted back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair.

"She reads minds, right?" he said abruptly, gesturing towards Nyssa. One corner of her mouth quirked upwards.

"That's not exactly how I would put it…" she started, but subsided as Sera touched her hand.

"Explain the offer. We will decide whether to accept or not once the terms have been laid out," she said flatly. Sarno sighed.

"Look, it wasn't my idea, okay?" he said grudgingly. "But we've got a suspect in custody right now that we're pretty sure is tied to seven different rape and murder cases over the past five years. There's a missing girl that we think might still be alive, but he won't give us anything on her. If she can get a location, we can all pretend none of this ever happened."

"That sounds dangerous," Sera noted, regarding Sarno coolly and taking a deep breath as she prepared to launch into negotiations.

"I'll do it," Nyssa said evenly. Sera's mouth snapped shut and she swiveled her head to affix a glare on her friend and client. "Not for you guys to get the collar. Not so you can drop some trumped up bogus charges. But so the girl can live."

"Nyssa, you know that means you have to be in close contact with a serial killer, right?" Sera hissed at her. Nyssa shrugged.

"I've been in worse situations," she said nonchalantly, her fingertips grazing one of the scars that her hair now almost hid. She shifted and turned her sightless eyes towards the policeman. "But I have conditions. I'll need all my belongings back. I want access to the casefiles, including psychological evaluations. I need a computer with access to the department network. And I won't meet with him unsupervised." Sera let out a relieved breath. Nyssa smirked slightly.

"The casefiles? Access to our network?" Sarno repeated disbelievingly. "I don't know, I don't see how those are something you'd need to have access to in order to locate one girl…"

"If you want her found, those are my terms," Nyssa cut him off. "If you give me ten minutes with him, I can tell you where he has her. The sooner you meet my terms, the sooner you'll find the girl. Do we have a deal or not?" With a soft huff, Sarno stood.

"I'll talk it over with the Chief and get back to you," he said, and left the room.

* * *

Sera watched through the one-way mirror with her arms folded over her chest, face tight with worry. In the interview room, Nyssa sat alone, hands clasped on the table in front of her. She seemed unconcerned and, in Sera's opinion, entirely too calm.

"Would you prefer that I be visibly upset when they bring in the murderer-rapist?" Nyssa asked the empty room, her voice carrying over the microphone to the anteroom where Sera was watching and waiting along with four other officers. The officers looked at each other in confusion at the random statement. Sera rolled her eyes and toggled the intercom.

"No, of course not. Just be careful." Taking a deep breath to soothe her nerves, she started rifling through the file that the NYPD had provided on the killer. Some of the pictures made her swallow hard. Besides the lurid brutality of the crimes in the photos, there was something else about them that bothered her. Frowning, she sorted out the photos of the victims' faces before tragedy struck, the ones the families provided. They were dark-haired, light-haired, red-haired; blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes. At first glance, there was not much similarity between them. After a moment, she realized what they all had in common. They all shared a slight stature and wide-eyed beauty, a kind of almost ephemeral quality that seemed like innocence but wasn't, quite. They reminded her strongly of her friend, the one who was at this very moment waiting to meet the man who had committed such horrendous acts against women who were strikingly like her. Sera swore and dropped the photos on the table, rushing to the door. Two of the police officers halted her progress. "Let me go!" she commanded. "Stop the interview, I'm calling the deal off! She fits exactly the type of woman he victimizes, and you're locking her in a room with him! He shouldn't be allowed to lay eyes on her." One of the other cops shook his head.

"Relax, we're not going to let anything happen to her. Besides, it's too late now," he pointed out, gesturing to the room. Sera's eyes widened as she saw that there was now a man seated across from Nyssa at the table. He was dressed in a DOC jumpsuit, hands in shackles, but there was a predatory gleam in his eyes when he looked at her that had Sera ready to bolt out the door again. Sarno laid a hand on her shoulder, and she twisted around to glare at him.

"Do you trust your friend, I mean client?" he asked pointedly. "Do you believe that she knows what she's doing?" Sera glowered at him as she chewed the inside of her bottom lip.

"Yes," she finally said grudgingly.

"Then let her do her thing," he encouraged. "She had access to the files, too, so I'm sure she noticed the same thing you did, but she still was okay with being alone in the room with him. Insisted on it, actually. So trust her. We'll go in if anything goes wrong." Sera sighed and folded her arms over her chest, turning to watch the interview room carefully.

* * *

Nyssa was very much aware of Tyler Van Cann's preferences and predilections. She had reviewed the digital copy of the file they had provided her with, but the graphic images weren't necessary. As soon as he was in close proximity, she knew exactly what kind of man he was. He held no remorse for the things he had done. He saw his detainment as a challenging part of the game he was playing with the police and with society. He was above all of it in his mind; a superior mastermind pulling puppet strings with a nasty tendency to break his toys. She felt his undivided attention and interest on her. She was a toy he very badly wanted to play with. Being in the same room with him made her skin crawl. With effort, she remained composed.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Van Cann," she said formally, laying her hands on the table. "Let's talk about Brooke Hunnisett, shall we?"

"What about her?" he asked, feigning innocence. "I've never met anybody by that name." Nyssa let the faintest ghost of a smile play at the edges of her mouth. He'd already been through this song and dance with the detectives before her. He'd heard the name a hundred times by now. He was filled with contempt and amusement that the police thought having someone with a pretty face ask him would get him to confess. But that wasn't what Nyssa was after.

"I suppose not. You never bothered to learn her name, did you? But I know you'll recognize her." She slid a photo across the table towards him. He barely glanced at it, but quickly captured her extended hand in his shackled ones, pulling her across the table towards him. She could smell his foul breath, his grip on her wrist strong and unrelenting. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on what she was here to do. Rifling through someone's mind was a very delicate matter. If she wasn't careful, she could cause flashbacks, headaches, panic attacks, and all manner of psychological distress. Given the circumstances, she did not feel much inclined to be careful. He let out a surprised yell, his hand flexing around her wrist, but she wasn't ready for him to let her go yet. She plumbed the far reaches of his mind, gleaning every bit of information from him that she could. She had no desire to make this trip again. All the while, he screamed and shook. She felt the others enter the room. The officers were both confused and fascinated, while Sera was trying valiantly to restrain herself from tearing the man away from her. Nyssa made sure to set things back in order before she exited his mind. He wasn't going to be able to use an insanity defense if she could help it. Taking a deep breath, she broke contact. He snatched his hands back, horror and disbelief staining the overbearing smugness that had previously colored his persona.

"What… what did you do to me?" he hissed.

"It's unpleasant, isn't it, to have someone force their way inside you without your consent?" Nyssa observed with a knowing smirk. Van Cann glared at her, rubbing the back of his head.

"That's assault," he spat at her.

"You're the one who grabbed me," she pointed out mildly. She stood and crossed to the corner, where a printer was set up. She touched the device nestled behind her ear, then laid a hand on the printer. The others watched her curiously. Sera watched them, waiting for their reaction. After a couple minutes, the printer spat out two sheets of paper. She handed them to Sarno. "You'll find Ms. Hunnisett there. There's a secret room in the basement. You'll find a release lever hidden in the pantry, behind the cans of hash. Hurry. She's been without food or water for three days. Might not have much time left." Sarno nodded and handed the paper to the other officers, who quickly left. He frowned down at the second piece of paper.

"What's this?" he asked. "There's thirty-seven different spots marked on here." Nyssa nodded.

"That is where you will find the remains of his other victims. At least, it's where he left them. It's possible some of those were discovered, but I would need more time to cross reference with your open cases. Besides, I've already done enough of your work for you," she noted flippantly. Van Cann was still sitting at the table, his hands clenched. His sense of superiority was withering away beneath his shock that he had been bested by a woman half his size. Now he was being ignored, as if he were of no consequence. He glared at Nyssa, but she continued to ignore him. Instead she raised her eyebrows at Officer Sarno. "I'm free to go, then, correct?" He eyed her with a combination of amazement and respect, and opened the door.

"Yes, you're free to go. We'll, ah… we'll be in touch," he mumbled. Sera raised her eyebrows at him as she passed by.

"I don't recall further contact with the police being a part of the deal," she observed.

"We might need her to testify," he said as he closed the door behind them, locking in the notorious killer.

"I doubt information gathered using telepathy would be admissible in court," Nyssa mentioned. Sera got a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Well, there's certainly no precedent," she agreed. "But maybe it's about time that changed."

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were both in Sera's Tesla heading back to Nyssa's apartment. Nyssa closed her eyes and rested her head back on the seat.

"Man, am I exhausted," she breathed. "Why am I so exhausted?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sera countered with a chuckle. "In the last twenty-four hours, you only gave an impromptu speech and concert in front of 2700 people, got very publicly arrested – all of which was recorded and now has gone viral, by the way – spent the night in jail, then helped the police locate the last victim of a mass murderer, while providing them with enough evidence to put him away for several lifetimes." Nyssa sighed.

"Well, when you put it like that…" She yawned and tucked her legs up under her on the seat, her shoes forgotten on the floor of the car. "I just hope they found her in time to save her."

"It's out of our hands now," Sera reminded her. "You did everything you could to help. Now we just let them to their jobs." Nyssa nodded and fell silent for a few minutes, her head back against the seat as she turned her face toward the passenger side window and the passersby on the sidewalk. For a moment, Sera thought maybe she had fallen asleep. Then she glanced back at Sera with an impish grin.

"I went viral, huh?" she reflected. Sera let out a short puff of laughter and nodded.

"Hell, the videos have everything people like to watch these days. Your speech, the knock-your-socks off musical performance, a spectacular example of police using unnecessary force…" Sera shook her head. "You might have been famous in New York before this, but you just went world-wide." Nyssa snorted and laid her head back against the seat again.

"Well, I guess it's good to know that, if my two doctorates end up taking me nowhere, I'll always have a music career to fall back on," she quipped ironically. Seraphina laughed and navigated through an intersection. She glanced over at Nyssa and noticed that the smaller woman was curled up with eyes closed, breathing deep and even. Her grin softened to a slight smile, and she turned her attention back to the road.


	51. Fulmination

It was two weeks before Nyssa heard from the police again. Not that she'd been waiting. Her days were consumed with training Darshan. They usually had four or five intense sessions every day, with breaks for meals and rest. She had done a few interviews with newspapers and a handful of blogs, talking about the flaws in the Accords, what amendments were needed, and what kinds of challenges citizens were facing because of them. The Movement was picking up steam. The call came in on a Friday. She was summoned back to the same precinct she'd been held in. This time was a bit different, though. Instead of being searched, stripped, processed and locked up, she was escorted by a pair of junior officers straight to the Chief's office. He looked up as she entered, raising his eyebrows at Darshan pacing quietly at her side.

"We don't generally allow pets in the precinct," he commented, his annoyance directed more at the officers with her than at her.

"He's my service animal," she explained. "Darshan is my eyes." She touched the top of his head lightly, and he sat obediently, a silent shadow at her side. The Chief huffed.

"Fine. Just don't let him chew on the furniture. I just had this desk replaced." He nodded at the junior officers, and they left, closing the door behind them. Chief Powers regarded her for a long moment, then sighed.

"I don't know what the hell it is you do, Dr. Taylor," he said gruffly, "but you've managed to close six cold cases, resolve thirteen missing persons cases and make sure Tyler Van Cann is going away for the rest of his life."

"Did they find Brooke Hunnisett in time?" Nyssa asked anxiously. Chief Powers nodded.

"They found the girl. She's still in the hospital, but it sounds like they expect her to make a full recovery," he confirmed. "She'll be able to get back to her life, thanks to you." Nyssa let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad. I could make some recommendations for referrals to trauma counselors. After what she's been through…" Nyssa stopped as the Chief shook his head.

"Phoenix Rising has already been in contact. She'll have supports, and therapy. That's not why I called you down here," he said. Nyssa raised her eyebrows and inclined her head for him to continue. "It does occur to me that we could be much more effective with you on our team. With your background, you could officially do psych evals, but with your abilities, we could close investigations much faster and with greater accuracy, find missing people… the possibilities are mind-boggling." Nyssa tilted her head to the side, considering his words.

"Chief Powers, are you offering me a job?" she asked incredulously. He shrugged.

"I'd have to have HR write up an official position, but yeah. If you're interested, I'd love to have you on board." Nyssa contemplated his offer seriously for a few moments. It didn't catch her entirely off guard. She had come with contingency plans.

"I'm flattered by the offer, Chief, but I'm not really interested in joining the force. Aside from the questionable ethics in using me for routine interrogations and the fact that I'm not sure my testimony or findings would hold up in court, I don't think law enforcement is really my thing. I would be willing to be called in as a consultant on occasion. If that would be acceptable, you can contact my attorney to work out the details. However, I do have some contingencies." She opened up her valise and found the thin folder inside. Silently, she slid it across the desk to Chief Powers. Perplexed, he opened the folder and paged briefly through its contents.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, his eyes scanning the list of familiar names.

"I agreed to work with you the first time, given the extenuating circumstances," Nyssa replied. "But if we are going to have a regular working relationship, you might need to do a little housecleaning."

"Bribery, patterns of using unnecessary force, abuse of civil asset forfeiture, embezzlement… domestic abuse…" Chief Powers shook his head. "Some of these are some serious accusations. And this is half the guys in the precinct. Do you really expect me to can all of them just on your say so?"

"No, of course not. They deserve due process just like everyone else." Nyssa smoothed down the fabric over her knees. Darshan moved closer, letting his head rest on her knee. He'd picked up on the spike in her anxiety. She rested her hand on the top of his head and smiled at the police chief. "Do your internal investigations, follow your policies, use disciplinary action as you see fit. You don't  _have_  to do anything about it at all. But I won't work with dirty cops." Having said her piece, she stood. Darshan stood with her, quickly aligning his shoulder beside her leg. "Good day, Chief Powers. Should you decide to accept my offer, we will be in touch." Powers grunted acknowledgement, absorbed in the list of names and infractions. With a small smile, Nyssa left, Darshan falling into step beside her.

* * *

They were about halfway home when a deafening explosion shook the air. Nyssa redirected Darshan in the direction of the people screaming and running away. He whined as they drew closer to the source of the noise. His powerful nose was nearly overwhelmed with scents of burnt plastic, dusty concrete, charred flesh and the acrid sulfur scent of gunpowder. He led her to what had once been a building, but was now little more than a heap of melted girders and pulverized concrete. Nyssa caught glimpses of the rubble through Darshan's eyes, then focused more on her own unique sight. There were maybe a dozen people still alive within the wreckage, though the shadow of death was beginning to creep over four of them. After a quick mental triage, Nyssa urged Darshan closer to one of them, a woman eight feet below the rubble heap. Nyssa started working to move the chunks of concrete and debris that covered her. On the periphery of her awareness, the sirens of emergency vehicles were drawing closer. The crowd that had already gathered in the street were pushed back, cordoned off by police so the rescuers could safety do their work.

"Ma'am, you need to leave this area. It's not safe here." Nyssa grunted as she moved another chunk of concrete. She sent it skidding and bouncing down the rubble heap, then turned to face the man who was trying to get her to leave. She couldn't see his uniform. One of the rescue personnel, no doubt. She saw the ripple of recognition and surprise run through him, and she pointed down to the rubble she had been digging in.

"There's a woman down there, about six feet below, still alive," she said by way of explanation. She glanced around the still-smoking heap. "There are eleven more… no, dammit, now there's only nine. Get a team in here and get this debris moved before it drops to eight." The man stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded, then turned and gestured to the rescuers still on the ground. They swarmed up the rubble heap and quickly set to work moving metal and concrete. Nyssa moved to the next-most accessible victim that only she could see, and set a crew to work there. She was moving to point out a third when she heard a familiar reactor whine, and turned her attention upwards to see a bright red personality settle onto the heap next to her, his presence unmistakable. A couple meters away, Rhodes settled onto the wreckage.

"Could you use a hand, Dr. Taylor?" Tony Stark asked. Nyssa didn't waste time with pleasantries, just pointed.

"Dig there. There's a survivor about ten feet down," she instructed.

"I see him. Hello, Tony. Nice to see you, Tony. Thanks for stopping by to help," Tony ad libbed as he started blasting pieces of rubble out of his way.

"Sorry, I prefer not to waste time with idle chit chat while people are dying," Nyssa shot back tensely. She started picking her way over the wreckage to the next person, but Darshan stopped suddenly and started backing up, whining. Nyssa turned to look at him, puzzled at his behavior. It became clear in the next moment as her footing suddenly slid out from under her, sweeping her up in an avalanche of rubble. A metal hand suddenly gripped her arm, pulling her free, away from the ruins. She clutched at Darshan's leash, pulling him closer until she could get a grip on his training harness. The three of them soared away from the collapsing debris, and Tony set her down on safe ground.

"You're on the bench, Crazy Train," Tony admonished. "Let the professionals handle it from here. At least we're equipped for it. My scanners can pick up whoever's still alive."

"You still can only be in one place at a time. I can at least help. I'm fine, Tony," she returned. His crack about her not being a professional stung more than she cared to admit.

"My usual definition of 'fine' doesn't generally include that much bleeding," he replied pointedly. "Get yourself checked out, Doctor. We've got the situation under control." She suddenly noticed, as the adrenaline began to fade, that her right leg really hurt. It was a distraction from a number of places that were only slightly less painful. She tried to put weight on it and nearly fell. She leaned on Darshan instead, and slowly lowered herself to the ground. She stroked his head, searching to see if he had been injured, but no painful areas jumped out at her. He was okay. He started licking at her shoulder, and she realized she was bleeding there. She was suddenly surrounded by paramedics.

"Ma'am, your leg is going to need stitches. We need a gurney over here!" One of them waved for more help. Nyssa shook her head and clung to Darshan.

"There are others who are going to be coming out of that rubble in much worse condition," she pointed out. "Save the ambulance for them."

"But you're injured, too," he argued.

"Can you get the bleeding to stop?" she asked. He shrugged.

"I can try."

"Then just patch me up, and I promise I'll get to a hospital when I can," she assured him. She could see his frustration, but she didn't care. The lifelights of survivors buried in the heap that used to be an office building were slowly starting to flicker and go out. She couldn't bring herself to leave until either everyone had been saved, or there was no one left to save. With a sigh, he set about bandaging her leg, wrapping it tightly. She grimaced at the pain but continued to watch the progress of the rescuers with an anxious pit in her stomach.

"I think that should do it," the paramedic said. "But I really wish you'd let us take you in. This needs a doctor's attention sooner rather than later."

"She'll be there by the end of the night," Sera promised, suddenly emerging from the crowd. "I'll make sure of it."

"Thank you," the medic replied, then jogged over as they pulled another survivor out of the destruction and began loading her onto a gurney.

"How did you find me?" Nyssa asked. Sera snorted.

"Nyssa's in the news again. Must be Friday," she sighed, sitting down next to her friend. "You know, I remember when our Friday nights included fun things that didn't end with one of us in jail or the hospital."

"You're being dramatic," Nyssa rebuked. "We had a nice girl's night out last week, and nobody did anything crazier than Micaela heckling that street musician. Besides, once a person reaches a certain level of public recognition, even minor things seem to become newsworthy."

"Minor things like climbing on top of a collapsed building with no safety gear?" Sera asked pointedly. Nyssa sighed.

"I just was thinking about trying to get those people out of there. I didn't think –"

"About yourself or your safety, I know," Sera finished the sentence for her. "I love your selflessness, but goddammit Nyssa, I don't want to bury you. It's okay to think of yourself, too, and make sure you're okay, and safe."

"Life is never guaranteed," Nyssa said quietly. "I should have died long ago, many times over. I didn't then, and I'm not going to now. Someday I will. I have no illusions of immortality. But hopefully not anytime soon."

"Then I guess we better get you to that hospital, huh?" Sera reminded her. Nyssa groaned.

"I guess. Not sure how far I can walk on this leg," she said ruefully.

"I parked as close as I could considering they've got the entire block cordoned off. You can use me as a crutch," Sera offered. She stood and pulled the smaller woman to her feet, twining Nyssa's arm awkwardly over her shoulder. "It's a good thing you're light." She glanced down at Darshan and paused. "How does he do in cars? Specifically, high-end electric cars with leather seats?" she asked warily. Nyssa shrugged.

"I guess we're going to find out."

* * *

As it turned out, Darshan did fine in cars, as long as he could rest his head on Nyssa's shoulder. They dropped him off at Nyssa's apartment on the way to the hospital. He was reluctant to follow Sera up to the 15th floor, but Nyssa reassured him that she would be home as soon as she could. The delay didn't do her any favors. The emergency department was crowded and loud, and Nyssa had already bled through the dressing the paramedic had applied to her leg. After getting vital signs taken, they produced a wheelchair for Nyssa to ride in, and Sera wheeled her into the waiting area. The television was turned to the news, and Sera grimaced as the television displayed footage of Nyssa scrambling through the debris and the arrival of Iron Man as the newscaster narrated.

"Rescuers are still working to find any survivors. So far, seven were able to be rescued and have been hospitalized. The death toll is estimated to be thirty-five. Police are still investigating the source of the explosion." Nyssa sighed.

"Can we watch something different?" she asked quietly, and Sera's heart broke at the look on her face. She flipped through the channels until she found something innocuous – a nature show, complete with British narration. None of the others in the waiting area complained after glancing at Nyssa, although Sera did catch a few startled looks. They sat in silence for awhile. Sera picked up a magazine and started paging through it.

"Tony was right," Nyssa said suddenly. "I'm not a professional… anything, anymore." Sera exhaled hard.

"Tony Stark is an entitled ass," she snapped. Conversations around them stopped abruptly, and several pairs of eyes trained on them. Nyssa shifted uneasily in her wheelchair.

"He means well. And that doesn't mean that he's wrong," she murmured.

"He was wrong to say it," Sera replied, sending challenging looks to meet the shocked glances trained her way, but lowered her voice anyway. "Look, you spent fifteen years building an organization specifically geared to lift people up when they are at their lowest. You poured everything in you into it – your dreams, your heart, your vision of what the future could be. You had that ripped away from you. You worked hard for your degrees, and now you're being kept from using them in any meaningful way. And on top of that, you've been trying to adapt to living without your sight…" Nyssa started to interrupt, but Sera held a hand up. "I know, I know, it's just changed. But that's the point, it's changed. Which requires a period of adjustment. It's okay if you're feeling a little… destabilized."

"Helping people was always what helped me find my equilibrium," Nyssa mused quietly. "Now I've been prohibited from helping in all the ways that I'm used to. I spend my days playing with my dog and talking about the things those in power need to change. Maybe it's making a difference. I don't know. Sometimes I feel like the only difference between me and the conspiracy theorist on the street corner shouting about the end of the world is that someone gave me a platform and a microphone."

"You're not crazy," Sera pointed out. Nyssa smiled lamely.

"My leg might beg to differ with you," she replied, wincing as she shifted in the chair again. Sera shook her head at her.

"You don't have super strength, super speed or super healing powers. Just keep that in mind. But you're still a superhero as far as I'm concerned. Telepathy or not. You'll find a new path forward, I'm sure. But maybe, just for now, you should focus on yourself rather than solving everyone else's problems." Nyssa raised her eyebrows at her. Sera smirked, even though she knew Nyssa couldn't see her expression. "See, I do pay attention to your psychobabble every now and again."

"Helping myself and helping others aren't necessarily mutually exclusive things," Nyssa replied.

"Maybe not, but can you promise you won't run into any burning buildings to save anyone? At least until your leg is healed," Sera requested. Nyssa chuckled.

"Fine. I promise. No burning buildings for the next ten to fourteen days," she pledged, then chuckled again. "I've actually done that recently, you know." Sera's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped, but before she could make Nyssa tell her the story behind that little fact, the nurse came out to bring her back to a room.

* * *

Four hours and twenty-seven stitches later, they were limping back to Sera's Tesla. Nyssa sucked her breath in as she pulled her legs into the car and settled back in the seat.

"Remind me again why you won't take any of the perfectly good painkillers they offered you?" Sera asked, her annoyance and concern evident.

"It messes with my head," Nyssa reminded her. "Makes it harder to keep everyone else out. Ends up feeling like a bad acid trip." Sera paused after she settled into the driver's seat.

"And how would you know what a bad acid trip feels like?" she queried incredulously. "You don't even do weed. Even back in college, the worst you'd ever do was have a cigarette."

"I've had secondhand highs that would make Ozzy Osbourne jealous. Never needed to try them myself," Nyssa explained. Sera shook her head and started the car. They pulled out into the still-busy New York City streets.

"So what are you planning to do while you're laid up for the next couple weeks?" Sera asked. "Don't tell me you're not laid up; I heard them tell you to take it easy. So cool it with the yoga, take the elevator instead, and let people help you, okay?"

"Yes, mom," Nyssa quipped. "I guess I don't have any plans. It sounds like you have an idea for me, though." Sera half-grimaced out the windshield.

"It's just an idea I've been kicking around in my head since the night you were arrested," she said distractedly. "A bunch of GoFundMes popped up to cover legal fees for the protesters who were detained. I got to thinking about how you said there are probably Enhanced who are facing the same challenges you are – losing jobs or losing housing, facing discrimination – but they don't have the same resources you do. It's not like being Enhanced is a protected status, like gender or sexual orientation. There's no precedent for it. But I was thinking of starting a nonprofit to help with those cases. Kind of like the ACLU, but specializing in… superpowered clients." She half-grinned and glanced over at Nyssa. "What do you think? I could use some help getting everything set up. I know the legal side of it, of course, but I've never started a nonprofit before. Maybe you could walk me through it?" Nyssa's eyebrows were nearly in her hairline as she contemplated Sera's proposal.

"What do Desrosiers, Bell and Ayers think of your proposal? Are they going to let their newest partner take enough time off to start this new organization?" she queried. Sera shrugged.

"I haven't discussed it with them yet. I guess I was going to see what I could get started and whether it even took off before I broke the news to them. I don't even know if I can find any other lawyers that might be interested in something like that. It's still in the idea stage."

"If this is what you want to do, I'd be happy to help, however I can," Nyssa said with a grin. "If nothing else, it will give me something to do for the next couple weeks while I'm supposed to be off my leg." Sera smiled at her friend.

"Then I guess you and I are the start of the Enhanced Persons Defense Coalition," she announced. Nyssa nodded approvingly.

"Good name," she commented. "Straightforward. Simple. Elegant. Do you have a list of lawyers you want to approach?"

"A very short one," Sera admitted.

"Is Matt Murdoch on it?"

"No, why? You want another blind person to commiserate with?"

"Let's just say I think this might coincide with his interests."


	52. Expansion

One of Nyssa's favorite places to take Darshan during the day was Central Park. The energy there was different than in the rest of the city; attenuated and filtered through the Zen vitality of trees and other living things always content just to exist, that never tried to be anything they were not. The city wasn't quite far enough away to be forgotten, but she didn't come here to forget. Her leg was well healed by now, but on cold autumn days like this it sometimes ached. Her phone rang in her pocket, the ringtone telling her it was Seraphina calling. She tucked her technopath widget behind her ear and curled her fingers around her cell phone. She had become accustomed to taking her calls this way and enjoyed the privacy it provided her.

_Hi, Sera,_  she answered.

_We finally did it, Nyssa! We won our first case!_ Sera's triumph was a bright yellow clarion in her head. Nyssa grinned.

_I guess that means we're legit, huh?_

_It makes all the struggle worth it. And I feel like it proves to the others that we're headed in the right direction._ They had a string of six lawyers that had agreed to donate some time to the fledgling nonprofit. They had fielded a handful of cases and had some additional court dates coming up. Sera's tone grew thoughtful.  _The win is validating, but I'm actually more hopeful about the one we lost last week. I'm hoping to take that one to the Supreme Court._

_Now we just have to make sure the funds don't dry up,_ Nyssa mused. Donations had been spotty to begin with, but now that they had actually won a case, people might believe they were worth the funding. Nyssa had taken over most of the fundraising and community outreach – the bulk of the nonprofit duties that had nothing to do with courtrooms and legal jargon.  _I have a couple ideas for that, actually._

_Hit me,_ Sera replied immediately.

_Remember how we like to joke about me having a music career?_ Nyssa ventured tentatively.

_Yes, and how you won't try because you think that will keep you from being taken seriously?_ Sera countered.

_Well, it would. But maybe I could record a few tracks, put together a fundraiser album, and use the proceeds for the EPDC,_ she suggested.

_That's not a bad idea._ Sera's voice turned thoughtful.  _As long as you can put together some decent tracks. Think you can make it go viral again?_ Nyssa grinned to herself.

_Stranger things have happened._ She frowned as her attention was pulled outwards by a woman walking fast past her, clearly distraught.

"Mason! Mason?!" The woman called. She stopped next to Nyssa, who was standing still off to the side of the path. "Excuse me, ma'am, did you see a little boy go by here?"

_Sera, I'll call you back._

_Shit, do you have me on the brain phone again?_ Nyssa ended the call without answering the question, knowing it was mostly rhetorical. She turned her full attention to the distressed woman.

"Have you lost your son?" she asked. The woman nodded.

"He's three. I just turned my back for a moment, and when I turned around again, he was gone! I just…" The woman paused, looking from her to Darshan in his service harness. "Oh, you wouldn't have seen him. You're blind, aren't you? I'm so sorry to bother you…" She started to walk away.

"Wait, I still might be able to help!" Nyssa called after her. The woman stopped, and turned back towards her, hopeful but confused at the same time. Nyssa reached out her hand. "Take my hand and think of your son. Not just what he looks like, but who he is." Hesitance flared over her face, but she took Nyssa's hand. It took Nyssa only a few moments to trace the mother's memory of her son, and to get a sense of his presence and personality. Closing her eyes, she expanded her awareness throughout the park. The boy showed up in her mind, several hundred meters away. She opened her eyes and gestured for the mother to follow her. "This way!"

Even at a sprint, Darshan loped easily beside her, keeping her on the paved path and away from hazards as they wove through the park, the smells in the grasses, the sidewalk and the passersby telling stories through the dog's powerful nose. She had adapted to getting sensory input from the dog, and he almost seemed to know what she wanted before she did. They were less a team than symbiotic, each one's existence and skills enhanced by the other. In the months since the disastrous building collapse where Nyssa was injured, they had both learned more about working together, and she was almost more confident with him as her guide than before she had lost her sight.

The little boy was hiding in some bushes, his excitement at having escaped his mom replaced by distress that he could not find her. As the woman approached, he burst into tears and reached for her in relief.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" The mother thanked her profusely, then turned her full attention to her son. "Don't you ever do that to me again, young man! You scared me half to death! Next time we come here, I am going to put a leash on you…." Mason twined his arms around his mother's neck as she carried him away. Nyssa smiled to herself. Darshan sat at her side, watching the reunited mother and son walk away. Nyssa's smile turned contemplative as a thought occurred to her. She scratched absently behind Darshan's ears.

"What do you think?" she murmured to her canine companion. "Should we start training for search and rescue, too?" Darshan glanced up at her and whuffed, his tail thumping against the ground. She grinned. "That's what I thought."

* * *

The old Hydra outpost was weathered and overgrown. It was obvious that nobody had been in or out of the complex in years. Still, a low hum permeated the air, making the hairs on the back of Bucky's neck stand on end. The facility was on lockdown, security protocols still in place. Based on the intel Natasha had gotten for them, nobody would be able to get into the base as long as it still had power. Luckily, they had a way around that.

Felix stepped up to the transformer and took a breath. Turning, he glanced over his shoulder at Wanda, who held up her hands. Protective bubbles formed around both Bucky and Scott, preventing any electronic malfunctions. She nodded to Felix to go ahead. He placed his hands on the transformer, which started to whine, and after several seconds, exploded in a shower of sparks and blinding light. The wind quickly drove the smoke away, the outpost now eerily silent. Wanda glided over to the heavy steel entrance and swept the door open with a wave of her hand. She stepped through, hands at the ready to block any attack. None was forthcoming. Behind her, Bucky, Steve, Sam, Natasha, Felix and Scott filed in, weapons and shields at the ready.

At the center of the largest room, a backup power generator thrummed, providing power to four cryostasis units. It was neither surprising nor unexpected. Hydra had three ways of dealing with beings that had become too dangerous or inconvenient to manage. Sold into slavery or trapped in eternal sleep were terrible ways to live, but slightly better than the third option. They paused a moment, and Scott let out a low whistle.

"Are we sure they're human?" he asked. What was visible certainly didn't appear entirely human. Human skin didn't have the color and texture of charcoal. Two of the four figures weren't recognizably humanoid at all, just vague blobs barely visible behind the frosted-over glass.

"They were, once," Natasha assured him. "The only survivors of two different experimental programs, one aiming to create pyrokinetics, one with a focus on polymorphism."

"I can guess which is which," Scott said dryly, peering through the frost. "So are they… male or female?"

"Those two are amorphous beings now," Natasha replied. "They could take any form, of any person. So… both?" Scott snorted.

"We shoulda brought a bucket," he commented.

"Maybe a little less chatter, more rescuing?" Sam suggested, looking over at Bucky. With a silent nod, he crossed over to the control panel and set to work.

It was still somewhat odd, being on the other side of the cryochamber. They all knew how to turn them off and wake their inhabitants by now, but the others usually deferred to Bucky. He found a unique satisfaction in turning off the chambers, bringing their occupants back to life, greeting them with the news that they were now free. He had some regret that these were smash-and-grab operations. They didn't have the luxury of giving them time to reorient themselves and regain their strength, rest and recuperate. That would have to come later. This site appeared to be abandoned, but they had discovered that somehow, Hydra always knew. They probably had an hour, tops, before they would have company. Not that Bucky would regret another chance to bang some Hydra heads together, but the point of the exercise was to get everybody out in one piece.

A tense silence fell as the team watched the tubes slowly thaw, rime vanishing from the clear surfaces like ghostly fingers were peeling it away. The amorphous forms started shifting first, melting into puddles at the base of the chamber. The group's attention was suddenly pulled to one of the columns as a conflagration erupted inside.

"Whoa," Scott said, taking a step back. The glass clouded, then began to glow before slowly liquifying. A fireball suddenly shot out of the opening that appeared on the melting chamber. Felix cried out as it passed close by him, singeing his arm. Wanda quickly halted the flaming object's progress with a red-tinged force field. As an afterthought, she made another field around the other chamber for good measure. A few heartbeats later, the second cryotube exploded, the shrapnel contained by the ruby-hued globe. A humanoid-shaped fire hovered in the middle. The flames parted to reveal a human face, glaring at Wanda as she held it captive. The first fireball ricocheted off the walls of Wanda's field several times, sending bursts of flame spiraling against the transparent surface. Steve stepped forward.

"I am Steve Rogers. We mean you no harm," he reassured them, trying to project both calm and confidence. "We are here to liberate you, and to give you the option of joining us. Right now, the world is not welcoming of people like you and I. We offer safe haven, if you so choose." Both of the firebound figures stilled, watching Steve intently. The amorphous forms in the slowly-opening cryotubes were arranging themselves into something more recognizable as human, and they seemed to be listening, as well.

"If we go with you," one of the charred figures asked, still trapped within Wanda's force field, "will we be able to leave, if we want to?" Steve nodded.

"You will not be our prisoners," he confirmed. "We offer a place to rest and find yourself again. A place to live as equals."

"Of course," Sam interjected, "If you leave and start causing trouble, then we might have to find you again." Steve touched Wanda on the shoulder. She glanced at him, and he nodded.

"Let them go," he said simply. "The choice is theirs." She dropped her hands, and the force fields vanished. The two blackened figures dropped to the floor, slowly rose and exchanged glances. One of them smiled, teeth shockingly white against rough charcoal black skin. Behind them, two forms loosely resembling humanoid shapes stepped out of their cryotubes, their colors shifting as they struggled to find control, still disoriented from their recent thawing. They walked unsteadily towards the group.

"We will go with you, Steve Rogers," the other fire being declared in a voice startlingly feminine. "We will see if what you offer is true." The others nodded.

It took very little time to get everyone loaded back on the plane. Sam slid into the pilot's chair and started the preflight process. Wanda sat facing the newest members of their group, prepared to contain them in case they decided to burst into flame mid-air. The amorphous pair had found the strength to walk with them, but once safely aboard the plane, had collapsed into puddles on the floor. Natasha found the pair of vessels she had brought along just in case, and the two gratefully flowed into them to rest. Bucky looked from the sentient liquid to the permanently-charred beings sitting in the back and shook his head.

"I guess I should be glad we just got enhanced skills," he murmured to Steve. "Can you imagine being a human torch?" Steve glanced at them.

"I'm just glad we're bringing some back with us, this time," he replied. This mission had been an unqualified success, but they weren't always so lucky. The last mission, they had found their target, a monster of massive strength and size driven mad by the years of torture by Hydra and subsequent abandonment and isolation. Despite their best efforts, he had persisted in attacking them, until Bucky had been forced to put a bullet through the creature's brain to save a pinned-down Steve. The look of utter peace and gratitude that had come over the being's face was both startling and a reminder that he had once been human.

"Sometimes a quick death is the kindest gift we can give," he murmured. Steve sighed and glanced at him sideways.

"We can agree to disagree on that one," he murmured back. Bucky shifted uncomfortably. Steve clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm still glad to have you on the team," he reassured his friend. "Do you want to give the tour when we get back?" Bucky half-grinned.

"Don't mind if I do."

* * *

Killian Resnik set his sniper rifle up on the roof of a building across from where his target resided. He peered through the scope and watched her moving about her room, oblivious to his presence. Just like they always were. He would wait and take the perfect shot when he saw it. Although the sun had gone down hours ago, she still had no lights on, but that made little difference to his scope. She was changing into her nightclothes, and he took a moment to appreciate the lines of her silhouette. Somehow, she was not lingering long enough before the windows to give him a clear shot. A pigeon landed on the rooftop next to him, cooing as it pecked at his tripod. Damn these New York pigeons and their fearlessness. He swore and shooed the bird away, then went back to his scope. He sighted through it again, but she had vanished. He could not find a trace of her in the apartment. He could just make out her form under the covers of her bed. Letting out his breath slowly, he tightened his finger on the trigger. The crack of his bullet through the glass told him his shot was good. He looked through the scope again, but in the darkness of her apartment, it was difficult to tell if the one shot had taken her out or not. He froze as something metal suddenly pressed into the back of his head.

"Who hired you?" a female voice asked. "How much is your contract?" He put his hands up, slowly.

"4 million," he said honestly. "I don't know who it was. He went by T. He contacted me online." He felt a light touch on his head, above where the gun was pressed, and an uncomfortable pressure inside his head. After a moment, she seemed satisfied, and both her hand and the pressure lifted.

"How much would it take for you to forget about this hit?" she asked. He shook his head slightly.

"I can't. It's not just the money, it's a point of professional pride," he replied. Not to mention, this particular client had made clear that if he didn't hold up his end of the bargain, he would be looking at spending the rest of his life behind bars.

"Is your professional pride worth your life?" she asked pointedly, pressing harder on the revolver pressed into his skull. He swallowed hard, then spun around, grabbing the hand that was holding a gun to his head and bringing his own short-range weapon to bear. It wasn't the perfect kill, but he would still get his money. He stared at the slight woman with short hair, leveling his pistol right between her hazel eyes. Then his eyes were rolling into the back of his head, and he fell to the gravel of the rooftop, fast asleep.

"Not again," Nyssa sighed, looking down at the assassin asleep at her feet. Kicking the pistol he had been pointing at her further away, she pulled a short length of rope out of her pocket and bound his hands behind his back. She was certain the police would be happy to get their hands on this one. She could even provide them with a complete list of his kills. But if there was a price on her head, he wouldn't be the last. She would have to do something about it.

* * *

The team took turns resting in the bunks at the back of the plane and getting to know their newest additions. The one with the more feminine voice was Ember, and the other went by Ignatius. They had little memory of who they were before Hydra had taken them and transformed them. The other two joined them after a period of rest and recuperation, taking more defined human forms with faces. They were siblings – twins, as a matter of fact. Varian and Misu. Their faces seemed to shift and change at a whim, making conversation uncomfortable, for Bucky at least. Natasha seemed fascinated by them. She spent much of the journey back engaged in conversation with them. He was content to leave her to it. He was slightly more comfortable with repeated social interactions than he had been back in Romania, but it was still taxing to constantly talk down the tactical part of his brain that was constantly analyzing, evaluating. That part of his mind had been ingrained, tortured into him. Even among friends, it would not turn off completely. Perhaps it never would.

Taking his music player out of his pocket, he tucked one of the earbuds into his ear. In the months since they had left Wakanda, his collection of music had grown. He had developed a habit of working with the headphones in – just one, so it didn't keep him from paying attention to what was going on around him – except for on missions. The others teased him about it, and then started bringing him discs of music that they picked up on their various information-gathering missions around the world. It was always different, often a little strange. It took him a couple months before he figured out that they were playing jokes on him, finding the strangest and most bizarre music they could find to bring back to him. He took his revenge by listening to and learning to enjoy all of it. Well, very nearly all of it. He had taken to arranging them in playlists by mood. He found that when he was listening to more aggressive tracks – what Steve still liked to tease him about, calling it his "angry music" – the others seemed to give him a wider berth. Sam would let him be for a day or two, before jostling him back into a better mood with pranks or jokes. But that was not what he listened to in his darkest moods. No, he tended to prefer instrumental tracks during those times when he sank deep into the darkest corners of his mind. The Winter Soldier still lurked there, but there was no danger of him taking over. Instead, his skillset was at Bucky's disposal when he needed it. Utilizing them sometimes left him feeling off-balance, less human, more the killer he had been groomed to be. He had discovered that there were many songs from many different genres that referenced the evil within, an animal inside, a demon within, a monster inside. Knowing that there were others who struggled with these same feelings was an odd, paradoxical comfort. It made him feel less monstrous, and more human. When he found himself in his dark moods, he would indulge in them for an hour or two, losing himself among minor keys and plaintive strings. But he could always pull himself out of it by listening to his "monster" playlist.

He was not feeling particularly monstrous today. He opted instead for a lighter mix, his standard post-mission tracks when they had been successful. He sat by the window, watching landscape far below them turn to water, clouds breaking up the great expanse. The cloud cover became sparser as they drew nearer the horse latitudes. He knew better than to look for the ship. The same technology that kept Wakanda hidden from the world for centuries kept their floating refuge invisible. It would not appear until they were nearly on top of it.

"Five minutes," Sam called. Bucky closed his eyes to enjoy the rest of his song. He tucked the music player back into his pocket and strapped himself in for the landing.

"Make sure you give us a smooth landing this time," he called over his shoulder.

"Hey, my landings are always smooth," Sam shot back.

"Settle down, you two," Steve chided with a shake of his head, but one corner of his mouth twitched upwards. They didn't really worry about Bucky until he stopped heckling Sam. Their aircraft dropped towards the water at an alarming rate. For a moment, Bucky tensed. Even though his mind knew better, his muscles still prepared for impact when it looked like they were about to crash into the ocean. Suddenly, the ship appeared a mere twenty feet below them. Sam corrected course and skimmed along the surface of the deck before touching the plane gently down on the landing pad. Their new passengers seemed somewhat anxious as the doors opened and gangway extended. Steve nodded at Bucky. "You're up." Bucky stood and crossed to stand in front of them. He looked at each of them in turn, and gestured for them to follow him.

"Ember, Ignatius, Varian, Misu… welcome to Sanctuary."


	53. Sanctuary

_Sanctuary_  was less a warship than a floating city. Bucky led the way as their newest guests followed behind him, eyes wide. The deck beneath their feet gleamed under the sun. To their right was a swimming pool that looked more like a lake, complete with a rock feature and waterfall. A handful of people were swimming in it, none of them the original members of the crew. Beyond the pool, the graceful glass peaks of the conservatory and arboretum rose over their heads. Most of the plants inside were edible, either medicinal or for food purposes. Shuri had designed the garden to be mostly self-sustaining, and it produced enough food to feed the entire ship. As their numbers grew, the garden seemed to produce more as well. Bucky hadn't quite figured out how exactly that worked, but he had learned not to question Shuri's genius. He laid a hand on the touchpad set into the glass, and it shifted apart, framing a doorway. They wound their way through the paths bordered in green, surrounded by the scent of growing things. It reminded him of being in Wakanda, and sometimes he was surprised by the vague feeling of nostalgia it gave him. Cooper waved at him from where he was picking fruit from one of the trees, and Bucky waved back. He caught a glimpse of Laura moving amongst the plants, Gracie a sleeping pile of dark curls in the pack on her back. In the distant corners of the conservatory, he could hear but not see the flock of Wakandan chickens that lived there. Their eggs were tasty enough to be worth the hunt through the massive greenhouse, and on special occasions, sometimes they were dinner.

The paths through the conservatory led to belowdecks. He led them past the gym, exercise room – available to everyone - and the armory and fight simulator, used by the core team to keep their skills in top shape. There was a library as well, and a pair of classrooms, where Mutt taught all the children. They had started with the handful of Barton children, plus Gabriele and Felix. As they had raided more abandoned Hydra sites and rescued more survivors, there had been more. More children, more teenagers. The others had occasionally expressed surprise or disbelief at this fact, but Bucky had experienced firsthand their ruthlessness and cruelty. While it didn't surprise him, it reminded him how far he had come, and hardened his resolve that he was on the right path. He had abandoned the thought that this could somehow save his immortal soul. Whoever was responsible for those decisions, it was well above his pay grade. But it did help him sleep a little better at night. He pointed out each of the amenities as they passed by. The others were not commenting, but their astonishment was palpable.

"The mess hall is open oh-six hundred for breakfast, eleven for lunch, and dinner starts at seventeen hundred," he explained, gesturing as they passed it. "Felsma is our excellent cook – sorry, executive chef. Please alert her to your individual dietary requirements. If you don't care for her meals, the individual quarters do have kitchenettes, but you'll also have to explain to her why you don't like her food." Truthfully, she made the best meals he'd ever tasted, but his standards were Depression-era fare, army rations, and the slop that Hydra served him, which had been formulated to meet his daily caloric needs with a serum-augmented metabolism but didn't offer much in the way of flavor or consistency. It had taken him a little while to adjust to foods having distinct textures, first in Wakanda and then here. He had nothing but admiration for the reptilian woman. She managed to create a variety of meals to satisfy everyone, from the picky toddlers to supersoldiers to human-animal hybrids that sometimes had very specific dietary needs. He led them down a staircase to the next level down, dedicated to personal quarters. Most of them appeared to be identical from the hallway, with the glaring exception of Lorelei's. She had been the product of Hydra's attempt at creating warriors that could fight underwater. She was, for lack of a better word, a mermaid. At least, she had gills and a fish tail, though the overall impression was more nightmare than fairy tale. The scales did not stop at her waist, but covered her torso, face and arms, all the way down to her webbed fingertips. Her face was narrow, with wide, unblinking eyes. A row of spines along her back and fanning out from her head were filled with deadly poison, and she could also generate electrical shocks strong enough to incapacitate or kill. She could not survive out of the water. They had found her half-dead in a rancid aquarium at a derelict facility in Poland. Initially, she had embraced the freedom they had given her, traveling in the open ocean. But she had tracked the ship down after a few months, growing tired of the companionship of fish. They had converted one of the rooms into a massive 12,000 gallon saltwater aquarium, and she happily swam there, interacting with people as they passed the large window that connected her tank to the hallway. She swam closer to see the newest members of their little community, her piscine face arranged in the closest expression she had to a smile.

"These will be your quarters while you are here," he explained, gesturing to a row of four rooms that had been unoccupied until now. "They have standard precautions built in – waterproof, flame retardant, resistant to electricity, customizable climate controls. Any further changes you need, talk to me, Scott, Steve or Clint." He opened the door to the first room, and Ember wandered in, eyes wide as she took in the comfortable bed, kitchenette, private bathroom and modern Wakandan conveniences. Bucky sympathized. Compared to the oppressive conditions she was used to, this was almost unimaginable luxury. She half-turned back towards Bucky, eyes shining.

"Is this real?" she asked hesitantly. "I'm not dreaming… or dead?" With a lopsided smile, he shook his head.

"It's real," he assured her. She nodded slowly, looking around with a thoughtful expression.

"You said flame retardant," she recalled. "How much heat can it withstand?"

"It's been tested to 3000 degrees Centigrade, but if you need more than that, we can come up with something." He had to give Scott credit; for as clueless as he could seem sometimes, he really did come up with some ingenious modifications considering the variety of beings on board the ship. Ember nodded.

"Thank you. For everything," she said. He nodded and smiled. After getting the others settled into their quarters and a brief discussion of what modifications might be needed for them, his tour duties were done. The standard tour did not include the control room or the underbelly, where Scott and his assistants kept everything running smoothly. The ship was powered by a combination of solar and hydroelectric, as well as a generator that could scour garbage out of the water and burn it cleanly for extra fuel. In the time they'd been at sea, Scott estimated they'd cleaned up 400 tons of trash. Saving the world in more way than one. He continued down the hall to his own quarters, which was two decks down. Halfway there, he encountered a dark-haired girl with a huge smile, a golden-haired puppy in a sundress beside her and a squat, round canister trailing behind them.

"Hi, Uncle Bucky, how did the mission go?" Lila chirped. "Did you bring back more friends for me?" Beside her, Gabriele slowly transformed back to her human form. Bucky grinned at the title she had bestowed upon him. It had been months since she started calling him that, but it still made him smile.

"It was successful," he assured her. "Nobody your age, though, and you know you need to give them some time to adjust before you start trying to be their best friend." Lila feigned a pout.

"Fine. I promise," she sighed, then brightened. "Are you coming swimming with us later? Nate wants you to launch him across the pool again." Bucky chuckled.

"I'll think about it," he hedged. "Right now, I just need a shower."

"Okay," Lila chirped, and beckoned to the machine behind them. "Come on, Bittybot." She had constructed the robot to help fetch her tools, but it seemed to follow her everywhere. Bittybot chirped affirmative and rolled after the girls. Bucky watched them go with a half-grin, then continued on his way.

He breathed a sigh of relief as walked through the door to his quarters. They weren't ostentatious – he still wasn't prone to decorating – but everything was where he'd left it. Well, almost everything. Balaur trilled at him, launching into the air and landing perched on his metal shoulder. They had found him and several of his nestmates on one of their missions, leftovers of a vanity project by a high-ranking Hydra official. They had apparently been trying to create dragons. What they had produced were ten pound flying lizards that burped smoke or acid when they were threatened. They hadn't intended to bring any of them back with them, but Balaur had followed Bucky all the way back to the ship, chirping. Sam insisted that he was only attracted by the gold in Bucky's arm, but he wasn't so sure. He had built a habitat for him in the corner, by the window looking out over the water. Occasionally, he would wear him around on deck, giving him ample opportunity to fly away, but Balaur always chose to stay. Curling his tail around the back of Bucky's neck, he chirped contentedly, tucking his head under Bucky's chin. Bucky absently scratched under his pet's jaw as he started putting away his weapons.

* * *

FBI Director Tate Wells trudged back to his office after a long day. Demonstrations had been popping up around the country protesting unfair treatment of Enhanced persons, and they had been gathering information on every person who attended, investigating if they might have any indication of having superhuman abilities, or if they were a threat. Most of them did not. There were also several reports of crimes that did not seem possible for a normal human. He had fifteen divisions alone investigating those. With a sigh, he sat down at his desk and flipped over the file on the very top, scowling down at the photos of a woman with wide, hazel eyes staring defiantly at him from the mug shot in her file.

"If you wanted to talk to me, you could have just asked, Director Wells." His head snapped up as the voice wafted from the couch in the corner of his office. How had he missed the woman sitting there with her dog at her feet?

"How the hell did you get in here?" he demanded, picking up the phone to call security to come and escort her from his office. The receiver gave him no dial tone, only dead air. He tried depressing the button several times, but found it was still not functional. With muttered profanity, he hung up the receiver and grabbed instead for his gun. She did not seem concerned, even as he leveled his firearm at her head. "Why are the phones out?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I just wanted to make sure we weren't disturbed." She stood and sauntered over to the desk. "I'm fairly certain you will not want witnesses to this conversation, either." She touched the back of the chair across from him and pulled the chair closer. "Do you mind if I sit down?" He didn't answer, but she sat anyway. His hand with the gun wavered slightly. He wanted to pull the trigger, but he couldn't make his fingers close.

"I could shoot you dead right now, in my office," he growled. The dog took a step between him and the woman, staring at him fixedly.

"That would save you the four million dollars, wouldn't it?" she mused. Shock lanced through his stomach, but he kept it from his expression. She smiled knowingly. "Yes, I know about the contract you put out on my life. Well, what are you waiting for?" She gestured at the handgun expectantly. "Shoot me, right here and now. You might find that you don't actually want to do that. Or rather, it's not in your best interests to do that."

"Oh, really? I don't?" he replied sarcastically. He raised the pistol again, training it right between her eyes. "Better start talking fast. You're a dangerous woman, Dr. Taylor. Some could argue the greatest threat to our society today. You might look sweet and innocent, but I don't buy it."

"Sweet, perhaps. I've never claimed to be innocent. What is so threatening about people asking to be treated with decency and respect?" she asked mildly. "I only represent a threat to the status quo. I suppose I see where that could be scary to you. But what has been set in motion will continue, with or without me. I'm just a figurehead at this point. Others have taken up the cause. Killing me will not stop it. Turn me into a martyr, and you ignite the powder keg. Do you really want a revolution on your hands? Especially one that starts with an unarmed blind woman and her dog found dead in your office?" He contemplated that for a long moment. She had a point, damn her to hell. He lowered his weapon, setting it carefully on the desk between them, the muzzle still pointing at her.

"Maybe not here," he admitted. "But there are many plausible… accidents… you could have. Particularly given your condition." She smiled thinly, her sightless eyes trained on his.

"My preferred method is usually to appeal to a person's better nature, but I also am aware that not everyone has one," she said flatly. "It is in your best interests to keep me alive, Tate." He raised his eyebrows at her.

"How do you figure that?" he scoffed. She smiled at him a moment, though there was no mirth or joy in her expression.

"There exists a series of envelopes with names on them," she explained cryptically. "One of the names is yours. In the event of my death or disappearance, should it be under suspicious circumstances, all the envelopes will be released to the press. I am quite certain you would prefer that this not happen."

"What exactly is in the envelopes, and why should I be worried about them?" he asked derisively.

"Mostly secrets," she replied. "Along with proof. For instance, I am certain the President would be interested to find out that you've been financing an apartment for your mistress with taxpayer dollars. Your wife might also be interested, but for different reasons." Tate grew pale.

"So this is blackmail," he said shakily.

"Did you hear me ask for money?" she contradicted him. "This is merely a warning." She stood up, the dark canine form immediately moving to her side. "Cancel your contract. You will only run out of assassins willing to work with the FBI, or with you personally. And stop your campaign of misinformation towards the Enhanced Persons Defense Coalition. You are only delaying the inevitable."

"And what do I get in return, if I do that?" he challenged with a bravado he didn't entirely feel.

"You get to keep your job, Director Wells," she answered. "And your mistress. You get to keep your secrets. A man in your position doesn't get to where you are without a few skeletons, in your closet… or elsewhere. I assure you, I make a much better ally than an enemy." With that, she turned and was gone. His attention was drawn to his desk. An envelope now covered the gun he had laid on it. With a shaking hand, he picked it up and emptied out the contents. His heart sank. There were receipts, pictures, email chains, financial statements, his sins laid bare. On top of it all, a handwritten note informed him that these were just copies, and the originals were in a secure location. The office phone rang, jarring him out of his horrified reverie. He absently picked up the receiver, his attention still on the papers in front of him. It was his wife, asking if he would be home for dinner. He guiltily flipped over the picture on top of the pile as he assured her he would be home shortly. After he said goodbye to her and she hung up, he turned to his computer and logged in.

* * *

They all took shifts in the control room on a rotating schedule. This morning, it was Bucky's turn. The controls were sophisticated, and did not need much interference, but someone still had to be present to monitor any incoming threats or alerts, as well as the multitude of monitors that kept track of everything on board, from hull integrity and engine function to cabin temperatures. Since they traveled in quiet waters far away from any major shipping routes, it wasn't the most exciting job on board  _Sanctuary_. This morning, though, both Sam and Clint were expected back, one from a scouting mission and the other from a supply run. Laura opened the door to the control room and crossed to where she could watch the landing pad, Gracie in her arms.

"Clint should be back soon," she reminded Bucky. "Do you mind if we watch for him here?" He shook his head with a smile and gestured grandly to a seat by the window before turning his attention back to the sensor field.

"He's about ten minutes out," Bucky noted aloud. Laura nodded acknowledgement, bouncing Gracie on her knee as they both watched. The little girl giggled. Bucky smiled as he jotted down readings in the log. His smile widened to a grin as he noted that Sam's arrival was imminent.

" _This is Falcon requesting clearance to land,"_ came over the radio. Bucky hit the toggle.

"Clearance granted, but aren't you supposed to be going by your other name, in case someone's listening in?" he teased. A groan came over the comm.

" _Oh, God, it's you. Why did it have to be you on duty today?"_ Sam groused. Bucky chuckled.

"I'm not God, but thanks. Must be your lucky day."

" _You better not be playing High Speed Dirt again when I come in for a landing,"_ Sam warned. Bucky scoffed.

"Why would I do that?" he asked innocently. "You're not even wearing the wings." For longer-range missions, Sam took the converted Alfa Romeo instead. It could fly hundreds of miles, dive underwater, cruise over land, and it had the same stealth technology that their ship did, giving it the ability to vanish from prying eyes. At the moment, it had no reason to hide. Bucky already had his music player hooked up and ready to go as the flying Spider came in for a landing. He watched Sam climb out of the aircraft and start walking across the deck. His gait slowed, then stopped as he heard the music playing over the speakers.

_…And this bird you cannot change, oh oh oh oh oh…_

_"Free Bird, really?"_ Bucky saw him shake his head, his voice over the comm annoyed. " _Man, I hate you sometimes._ " Bucky chuckled to himself as Sam sauntered off to find Steve and give him his report. The Lynyrd Skynyrd song was winding down as Clint glided in with the decidedly staider cargo plane they used for supply runs. Laura stood up with Gracie, rushing down to greet her husband. Bucky watched as she ran up to Clint. Grace held her arms out to her father, and Clint scooped her up, and spun her around over his head, then greeted Laura with a kiss. She snaked her arm around his waist, and he pulled her shoulders closer as they both strolled across the deck. Bucky sighed, for a moment feeling a pang in his heart, but then the moment passed as the monitor to his left started beeping.

* * *

"Did you get everything on the list?" Laura asked as Clint escorted her into the conservatory for a stroll amongst the greenery. He nodded.

"Plus a little extra," he added, flashing her a pair of salted caramel chocolate bars.

"Oooh," she cooed, taking the candy and giving him a peck on the cheek. "You sweet talker, you." Gracie squealed from her vantage point on Clint's shoulders and patted him with baby hands. "Don't you need to get the supplies unloaded?"

"Nah," Clint said dismissively. "It can wait until the next shift takes over. Too many suspicious items in this load. Do you think he suspects?"

"He hasn't said anything to me," Laura admitted. "But you know he's not stupid."

"True," Clint acknowledged. "Better not let Lila anywhere near him, then."

* * *

Natasha came to relieve him shortly after lunchtime. He gave her a civil nod. In the weeks they had been at sea, finding more people to rescue, the two of them had struck an uneasy truce. He was still slightly wary of her and her motives, but she had proven to be a reliable teammate so far.

"Anything exciting to report?" she asked. "Anything special going on today?" Bucky shrugged.

"Engines are running at 15% less efficiency than usual. Scott's going to run a diagnostic. Climate controls in the gym are going on and offline. It's about twenty degrees warmer than usual. Gretchen said she might start a hot yoga class if it isn't fixed. I haven't decided yet if I want to join the class or go fix the temperature." He smirked, half to himself. Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Not much else notable. The supplies that Clint brought back still need to be unloaded. I might head down and help with that," he replied. Nat shook her head slightly.

"I'm sure someone will get to it," she said breezily. "Steve wanted to go over some of the intel Sam brought back with you. I think we might be close to green lighting another mission. Oh, and I brought you lunch." She handed him one of Felsma's box lunches. He took it and hefted it, as if its weight could tell him its contents.

"It's not poisoned, right?" he said lightly. He was mostly joking. Natasha scoffed.

"If it was, do you really think I'd tell you just because you asked?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Probably not," he admitted. She sashayed over to the big chair and settled herself into it.

"For what it's worth, it isn't," she said casually. Bucky tucked the meal under his arm, still undecided about whether to trust her and eat it or not. In the seven minutes it took him to reach the strategy room, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. It would give her no strategic advantage to kill him right now, and at any rate, he was hungry. He flipped open the box, taking a big bite out of the sandwich he found inside as he stepped through the doorway. Steve and Sam were standing at the table in the middle, staring down at the display. The three-dimensional image of a facility hovered between them.

"There you are, Buck," Steve said in greeting. "Looks like we've got another mission shaping up soon."

"If you think you're up for it," Sam interjected. "It's thirty or forty this time. An isolated bunker on Severny Island, ten miles from the Kara Sea." Bucky's eyes widened, and his jaw set.

"I know the place. I was there once… about forty years ago," he said softly. "I thought it was destroyed."

"Well, my intel says otherwise," Sam replied. "So either your memory is off, or they rebuilt it. Forty years is a long time." Bucky nodded.

"Who'll be in on this one?" he asked. Steve shrugged.

"Standard complement. The three of us. Clint. Wanda - if she hasn't disappeared to go see Vision again. Natasha. Maybe Felix if Wanda's there and his mom's okay with it. Scott."

"Maybe we should iron out who before we decide exactly what," Bucky suggested.

"Or you could tell us everything you remember about this place," Sam rejoined. "I couldn't get a lot of details on the interior layout or security measures they might have."

"I'll give you what I have," Bucky replied. "But like you said, forty years is a long time. No guarantees it's still the way I remember. If I'm even remembering it right." He still didn't entirely trust his memory all the time. Much of it was nightmarish and surreal. Sometimes it was difficult to sort what had actually happened and what his brain tortured him with at night. But there were bright spots. And most of the places were real, at least. That knowledge had served them well over the past weeks and months. There was something… vindicating… about taking the knowledge he had accumulated as the Winter Solder, Fist of Hydra, and using it to wrest Hydra's victims from its grasp.

Their strategy session lasted for most of the afternoon. Sam was the one to remind them that they had plenty of time to plan and didn't have to iron out all the details right away. They agreed to take a break for the day, and the atmosphere in the room immediately shifted.

"What do you have planned for the rest of the day, Buck?" Steve asked. Bucky shrugged.

"Probably just a quiet night in my quarters. Why?" he asked.

"You have no idea what day it is, do you?" Sam asked, an odd expression on his face. Bucky frowned.

"It's Saturday," he said pointedly. Steve chuckled softly and clasped Bucky on the shoulder.

"It's March tenth, Bucky," he prodded. Bucky could tell from his tone there should be a significance to the date, and it did seem to him like it was an important date in his memory, but he couldn't remember how.

"Yes, I know," he replied. Steve looked at him a moment longer, then glanced at Sam.

"Are they ready?" he asked cryptically. Sam nodded.

"Laura messaged me. Everything's set," he answered. Bucky looked from one to the other with a wary expression. They were acting strangely, and he had an uncomfortable feeling something was going on that they had purposely not told him about. Surprises had never meant anything good for the Winter Soldier.

"What are you guys talking about?" he asked guardedly, trying to ignore the rising panic in his stomach. Steve gestured with a jerk of his head and pulled Bucky towards the door.

"There's something we want to show you," Steve explained.

His anxiety seemed to ease slightly when they seemed to be going in the direction of the mess hall. Maybe Felsma had created a new entrée and wanted some victims, er, volunteers to try it out. It wouldn't be the first time, but they usually weren't so enigmatic about it. Steve glanced over at him, the excitement on his face turning slightly concerned.

"You okay, Buck?" he asked.

"I'm not a huge fan of not knowing what's going on," Bucky admitted.

"Don't worry, you'll figure everything out in another minute or so," Sam said reassuringly. "Unless you're even dumber than I thought." Bucky shot him a dirty look, but before he could respond with a retort, they reached the mess hall, and Steve opened the door. It was dark inside, and Bucky's hand automatically dropped to the empty holster on his thigh, tensing in anticipation of an ambush.

"SURPRISE!" Bucky stopped dead as all the lights went on, revealing the hall packed with the ship's inhabitants. It had been decorated with balloons and streamers. One table to his left was overflowing with cheerfully wrapped packages, and a double set of tables to his right were covered with food, filling the hall with enticing fragrance. A magnificent four-tier cake was the centerpiece, a hundred and one candles aflame. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Bucky, happy birthday to you!" everyone sang. He stood frozen, jaw slack, overwhelmed. It wasn't often that the ship's occupants all gathered together in one place at the same time. As far as he could tell, everyone was there: everyone who had joined them or had been rescued, the ragtag band of Hydra rejects. There must be over three hundred of them there. Even Lorelei was present. Someone must have helped her into her portable tank and moved her upstairs for the party. Birthday party. His birthday party. He hadn't had a birthday party in so long that he'd forgotten today was his birthday. Sam poked him in the ribs.

"You gonna blow your candles out, or are you waiting for that cake to burn the whole ship down?" he asked, eyes bright with humor. Shaking his head, Bucky stepped closer to the cake, took a deep breath, and blew out all of the candles. The crowd cheered. Bucky stared in fascination at the cake. It was covered in painstaking detail, and at first glance, it reminded him of illustrations from ancient Greek art, depicting heroic acts of legend. As he looked closer, he realized each scene was a picture of something that had happened, and each one featured him. There he was rescuing Gretchen and the rest of the Stormbringers, here was the successful mission in Pripyat, there was the rescue of Lorelei, and on and on. They even seemed to be in chronological order, like a graphic story of everything he'd done since coming on board.

"What do you think?" Steve asked from behind his right shoulder. Bucky grinned and shook his head.

"This is incredible. Is this your handiwork?" he asked. Steve grinned sheepishly.

"Felsma made the cake, I just did a little painting on the outside. It's not a medium I'm used to working with, but I think it turned out okay." Bucky snorted.

"Turned out okay? It's too pretty to eat," he retorted. "I hope there's another boring cake somewhere, because I don't think I can cut into this one." Steve chuckled and slung his arm over Bucky's shoulder.

"We'll have someone else do it, then. You won't even have to watch. We just wanted to remind you of everything you've done here. There isn't a single person aboard this ship who doesn't owe you their life."

"Speak for yourself, Steve," Sam retorted. "He still owes me a car." Bucky chuckled. He had been close to welling up at Steve's words, but Sam diffused the moment. "Now, are you going to go first for the food, birthday boy, or do I have permission to go ahead of you?" Bucky raised an eyebrow at Sam, but then realized everyone was waiting for him, so he grabbed a plate and loaded up. Some of it was very familiar – produce from their own trees and plants in the conservatory – but some were rare treats that Clint must have brought in on his supply run. Things that were usually in short supply on board, like chocolates and soda pop, featured alongside chicken skewers seasoned with Wakandan traditional spices and pasta dishes that he had never seen Felsma serve before. There were even bottles of Clint's homebrew off to the side. His stomach rumbled, and he remembered his sandwich had been several hours before. He sat down at his customary spot at the usual table and began to devour the delectable fare. Sam sat down next to him, one item conspicuously missing from his plate.

"You don't want to try the chicken?" Bucky said incredulously, waving a piece. "It's delicious."

"Barnes, you know I don't eat that anymore," Sam responded. "I can't eat something I've had a conversation with. Unlike some assholes."

"Well, that's where you're doing it wrong," Bucky countered. "You're not supposed to eat with your asshole."

"Sam, elbows off the table," Mutt chided as he sat down across the table from them. Sam shifted his indignant glare from Bucky to Mutt but did move his elbows. Their table was quickly filling up.

"Man, I cannot believe I am getting lectured on my table manners by a guy who licks his own balls," Sam complained.

"Not at the dinner table, I don't," Mutt replied mildly. "Besides, I still maintain that you are just jealous."

"What?" Sam spluttered. "Why would I be jealous of that?"

"Why would you not be?" Mutt fired back.

"Don't forget, there are women and children present," Steve warned, though from the pink in his cheeks, it wasn't just the women and children he was concerned about.

"What's wrong, Steve?" Natasha interjected from down the table. "Are you afraid the women will be jealous, too? I mean, I might be. What about you, Felsma?" she asked as the reptilian woman strolled by the table. She always liked to see how well her food was received.

"Me? Jealouss?" Felsma contemplated the question for a moment, tilting her head to the side. "Not exactly jealouss, no." A long, thin tongue darted out from her mouth and moistened her ever-unblinking eyes. Most of the table erupted in laughter.

"Guys, seriously…" Steve's face was turning scarlet. Bucky threw his head back and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks and his sides hurt. He didn't stop grinning the entire evening, and his face was starting to hurt from the unaccustomed expression. Everyone had kind words for him, and he found himself overwhelmed by the gifts they had brought. For him, all for him. The party lasted late into the night, and he was tired and still somewhat dazed by the time he returned to his quarters. Balaur greeted him with a chirrup, curling up on his chest after Bucky flopped down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, absently scratching behind Balaur's tympanum. The warmth that still lingered in his chest had little to do with the balmy weather or the three bottles of Clint's homebrew he had consumed. After more than seventy years as soldier, captive, prisoner of war, brainwashed assassin, fugitive and refugee, Bucky Barnes was finally home.


	54. Longing Redux

"Drinks for everyone! This round's on me!" Serafina announced, and the bar cheered. Sera raised her glass in triumph. "To victories! This will be one for the history books." She clinked her glass against Nyssa's Shirley Temple and took a drink of her whiskey sour. Glancing up at the television in the bar, she gestured to the bartender. "Can we turn that up?" The volume increased on the news program that was playing.

"… _Supreme court has ruled 5 – 4 that H.B. 258, nicknamed the Superhero bill, is unconstitutional. This bill provided for ways for the government to identify Enhanced citizens, and outlined restrictions on travel, employment and eligibility for certain forms of public assistance. It also imposed harsher penalties and mandatory minimum sentencing for crimes committed by an enhanced person. Much of the language in H.B. 258 was lifted directly from the Sokovia Accords, which does raise the question of if the US will continue to support them. Tony Stark is joining us tonight to discuss this news."_ The TV changed to split screen, with Tony appearing to the right of the news anchor. _"Tony, do you think the Supreme Court made the right call?"_ Tony's eyes widened briefly.

" _Well, Aaron, their opinion is legally binding, and mine is not."_ He smirked a little at his joke, but the newsman remained deadpan, and the expression faded from his face. _"But the Supreme Court has spoken. The Constitution applies to all people, regardless of their abilities. We can't disguise human rights violations as security measures and still claim to be the land of the free."_

" _So, what impact do you think this will have on the Sokovia Accords?"_ Aaron asked next. Tony spread his hands.

" _That is definitely a trickier question. But as it does have some of the same language that our Supreme Court found to be unconstitutional, I don't think I can say in good conscience that we should continue to support it."_

" _So you don't support it, Mr. Stark? You signed the Accords almost two years ago now. Are you now withdrawing your support?"_ Tony shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat, but looked directly at the camera.

" _I could not, in good conscience, support something that was causing harm to my fellow citizens. Now that some of the oppressive language of the Accords has come to my attention… Yes, I am withdrawing my support. In fact, I invite the 117 nations who signed the Accords to come back to the table, this time with the Avengers represented, and renegotiate an agreement that does not contain human rights violations."_

"Good boy, Tony," Nyssa murmured under her breath. Sera shot her a suspicious glance.

"Some of those things, I'm pretty sure I've heard you say before. Did you coach him?" she asked skeptically. Nyssa grinned.

"Not recently. Not directly. I know you don't have a very high opinion of him, but you can't say he doesn't pay attention." Sera snorted and started to reply, but Nyssa gestured for her to be quiet as she turned her attention back to the news program.

" _Mr. Stark, what do you think of Secretary Ross' statement that, if the US decides not to abide by the Accords, he will resign his position of Secretary of State?"_ Tony's eyebrows rose.

"  _I was not aware that Secretary Ross had made that statement. If it's true, then I suppose it is his prerogative. The State Department… wouldn't be the same without him."_ Nyssa chortled into her drink.

"Wow, I never took Tony for a diplomat. Color me impressed," she commented.

"I bet you $12 that Pepper's off camera with her arms folded over her chest, waiting for him to make an inappropriate comment," Seraphina chuckled. Nyssa nodded.

"That would give him a reason not to blow the interview," she agreed.

"Speaking of blowing…" Sera lowered her voice conspiratorially. "There's a very attractive man sitting across the bar that keeps making eyes at me. Can you scope him out for me? Is he interested? Is he a creep?" Nyssa laughed.

"Of all the things I can do, you always only want me to screen potential dates for you," she chided. Sera shook her head.

"Who said anything about a date?" she protested. "I'm just looking for a hookup. I'm celebrating tonight!"

"Well, you won't get any complaints from him," Nyssa said, nodding towards the man Sera had referenced. "He's definitely into you. And he's not the type to get creepy-stalkery, so have at it."

"His friend is pretty hot, too," Sera said teasingly. "Do you want me to – "

"No, thanks," Nyssa said quickly before her friend could finish the sentence. "I'm good."

"Are you sure?" Sera said. "I mean, I know you can't see him, but take my word for it, he's at least an eight. And he's been looking at you."

"You know I don't do random hookups," Nyssa reminded her. "I'm not wired for it. Besides, the last time I tried taking home a guy from a bar, he ended up being too nervous to perform, spent hours telling me everything that went wrong in his last three relationships, and crying on my shoulder as the sun came up."

"And then you dated him for three months," Sera recalled. "He was nice, at least. But you've just been throwing yourself into all your other projects lately. You could use a little… stress relief."

"That's what I have the battery-operated boyfriend for," Nyssa replied. "I don't have time for a relationship right now. I just got back from finding those hikers lost in the Mojave, and I've got six messages waiting for me when I get to the office tomorrow. Who knows where that might end up taking me?"

"Right, right. Sure. I know what's really going on. You're still pining after your Jimmy," Sera announced. Nyssa rolled her eyes.

"I am not pining," Nyssa protested. Sera reached out and pulled the chain and labradorite pendant out from under Nyssa's shirt.

"Then why don't you ever take this off?" she asked pointedly.

"It enhances my gifts," Nyssa said defensively, tucking the necklace back under her shirt. "Increases my focus."

"Right, there's no sentimental reasons whatsoever," Seraphina said sarcastically. With a sigh, she stood up and dropped a kiss on Nyssa's forehead. "You have fun with your nostalgic languishing. I'm going to go let Mr. Right Now buy me a drink."

"You do that," Nyssa replied, shaking her head. Darshan, curled up quietly on her feet, lifted his head into her lap, and she absently scratched behind his ears. She had been keeping busy enough that nights like this one, where she was left alone with her own thoughts and memories were something of a rarity. For the most part, she tried not to think of Bucky, but Sera's reminder sent her mind spinning back to her time in Wakanda. Distractedly, she caressed the pendant, her fingers skimming across the stone's smooth surface.

* * *

Bucky caught sight of a flash of white-blonde hair in the corridor ahead of him and broke into a jog to catch up. " _Natalia!"_ he called. She had just returned from a reconnaissance mission in Micronesia. She stopped and turned towards him, one hand moving furtively behind her back. He slowed down as he drew closer. "Did you find anything?" She nodded.

"According to the locals, there was a large explosion on one of the mountains about twelve years ago. After that, people started hearing strange cries and screeches. It didn't sound like anything native to the island. Anyone who ventured near where the explosion had been, disappeared. They sent a group to investigate, and they came back with wild tales of a savage monster with wings. Some of them were seriously injured. Descriptions vary, but they all agree that, whatever the creature is, it's female."

"Local legend, or Hydra?" Bucky queried. Natasha grinned.

"I found the scorched ruins of an old laboratory. It's definitely Hydra." She still had one hand hidden behind her back. Bucky tried to peek over her shoulder to see what it was, but she expertly maneuvered to keep it out of his view.

"So, what do you have there?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual despite his sudden suspicions. "A local souvenir?"

"Just something Clint picked up for me on his last supply run," she said nonchalantly. "Not everything is for you, James."

"I know that," he replied in irritation. "So, did you see the, ah, "creature"?" Nat shook her head.

"I couldn't get too close. I was gathering information, not trying to be a one-woman rescue operation. That's more Steve's style." Bucky nodded.

"How many will we need?" was his next question. Nat's expression grew thoughtful.

"If Wanda isn't back yet, we can probably get by with you, me, Steve and Sam," she said contemplatively. "Sam is a must, though, since she's airborne." Her arm drifted a couple inches away from behind her back, and Bucky took advantage of her distraction to quickly step to the side and grab what she was holding. He had become familiar with music CDs, since being gifted many of them. That's what this was, but he did a double take as he looked at the cover. It featured a picture of a rag doll made up of colorful patches, though the face appeared uncomfortably familiar. Across the top, it read  _Patchwork Doll,_ and inscribed across the bottom were the smaller words,  _Torch Songs for Dark Times._

"What is this?" Bucky demanded. "And why do you have it?"

"Nyssa apparently launched a bit of a music career. She's my friend, too, you know." Natasha sounded cross, but he wasn't sure if she was defensive or simply annoyed with him. "Besides, it's for a good cause." She turned the plastic case over in his hand and pointed to the back.  _All proceeds to benefit the Enhanced Persons Defense Fund._ "I haven't had a chance to listen to it yet, but it's supposed to be pretty good. Spent thirteen weeks in the top ten."

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in letting me borrow it," Bucky said hesitantly. Natasha snatched the CD back.

"Maybe after I get everything copied off of it," she relented. "In the interests of being complete, at any rate." Bucky gave her a hard look.

"What, do you have some kind of file on her?" he asked, his tone joking. Nat smirked.

"I have files on everyone," she admitted. "I like to know what's going on with my friends. Nothing new in yours, though. It seems you've successfully stayed under the radar since Berlin." Bucky contemplated her for a long moment, his expression carefully blank as he wrestled with whether or not to make the request. Really, he should just leave it alone. Probably better not to know. It had ended between them, and it had been months… Curiosity warred with propriety, and curiosity won.

"Can you show me what you have on her?" he asked tentatively. Natasha's expression softened.

Natasha's quarters were well organized and modestly decorated. Like Bucky, she had never developed the habit of accumulating excessive material possessions. She sat down at the workstation set into the wall across from the bed and laid her hand on the screen. A flash of green light made sure it was her before the screen came to life. Sliding the disc into an external drive, she quickly set it to rip the music files before clicking through folders to the one that Bucky had requested to see. She pulled its contents to the desktop, then stood up and gestured for Bucky to sit down. He frowned as he glanced through downloaded articles, editorials and blog post interviews. As always, Natasha kept her information in meticulous condition, time-stamped and sorted in chronological order.

"She's been busy," Nat commented from behind him. He half-nodded absently in agreement. There were nearly a hundred written pieces and well over a dozen audio or audiovisual files. It would take hours to go through all of it. He glanced at Natasha, who was standing behind his shoulder with her arms folded across her chest.

"There's a lot here," he noted. She nodded.

"I can make you copies of it, if you like," she offered. "Then you don't have to spend the whole night clogging up my workstation." He snorted.

"Might take you up on that," he admitted. He frowned as he stumbled across an article that didn't seemed to fit with the rest of them.  _Tony Stark Possible Appointee for Secretary of State._ "I think you've got this sorted into the wrong folder," he noted. There was no mention of Nyssa in the article at all. Natasha chuckled.

"If you don't think Nyssa had something to do with that, then you don't know your girl as well as you think you do," she said smugly. Bucky shook his head.

"No, she doesn't like to get involved in politics," he recalled. Natasha shrugged.

"She doesn't, until she does. It's hard to be apolitical in times like these. And when she does, well… she doesn't do anything by half-measures. Here." She nudged him out of her seat and started copying files to a different drive. It took a few minutes for everything to transfer, but then she pulled a thumb drive out of a nearby slot and handed it to him. "Now you can obsess about her in the quiet of your own quarters." Ejecting the CD, she slipped it back into its case and handed it to him. "This one I'll want back, though." Bucky nodded acknowledgement.

"Thanks," he said simply. "But I'm not obsessing." Natasha's mouth quirked upwards.

"Sure you aren't. Goodnight, James." Correctly reading that as a dismissal, he retreated with his treasure back to his quarters.

* * *

It was well past 3AM by the time he switched off his workstation, Balaur curled up and sleeping next to the bed already. It had been a bit of a roller coaster learning what Nyssa had been up to since she left. First her interview that was essentially an announcement that she was Enhanced, plus some warnings about the current sociopolitical environment. Then her warnings came true as she stepped down from the company she had created and been so proud of. He had no doubt there had been something shady about that. He found it unlikely that it had been simply "for health reasons" as the article stated. He watched the video of her performance in Central Park four times from beginning to end. He had to force himself to relax, reminding himself that it had happened in the past, and he couldn't change anything. The rest of the articles, he read while listening to the songs on the CD that had started his venture into recent history. Some of the songs were covers, but there were a few originals, most with songwriting credits to a Philip Monterose. They crossed genres, displaying an impressive range of vocal styles. He was taken by surprise at the feelings that arose upon hearing her voice again. He thought he had buried them and moved on, but apparently that wasn't completely true. His gaze kept traveling over to the CD case and the name scrolled in printed embroidery across the top. She had apparently taken his name for her to heart, and embraced it as her own. He was unsure if he should take that as a sign that perhaps she still had feelings for him as well. He found that, for all the answers Natasha's information had provided, he still had many questions.

Standing, he collected the disc and the thumb drive, and strode over to the closet. Pushing aside some of the gun cases, he pulled a small box out from the back of the shelf. He didn't have to look at the contents to remember what they were: the small painting Steve had given him of Nyssa and him smiling at each other, the little notebook he had dedicated to writing out his memories of their time together, other tiny items and mementos that had reminded him of her. Opening the lid, he added the CD and thumb drive, then looked down at it for a long time before closing it up and putting it away.


	55. Infinity War

The sun was setting as the team approached the charred and hollowed out skeleton that used to be a Hydra research facility. There without consent or knowledge of the local population, they had resorted to kidnapping and subterfuge to obtain subjects for their experiments. The jungle had exacted penance for their trespasses. After an earthquake had ruptured their power core and caused the explosion, the local flora had taken back the land. Vines twisted through cracked and crumbling walls, and exotic flowers bloomed cheerfully atop skeletons and melted electronics. The wind was warm, and carried the scent of rich and fertile earth as the sky turned brilliant oranges and vibrant pinks. Bucky tilted his face towards the sunset.

" _They kept me stuck in Siberia when this was an option?_ " he muttered under his breath in Russian. It was kind of astounding how far Hydra's reach had been, truly. They found old facilities in some of the most unexpected places.

" _Well, nobody called you the Tropical Soldier_ ," Natasha pointed out in the same language. He shot her a mock-exasperated look, then turned his attention back to their destination. Their trek inland had been marked by chirps and calls of the indigenous fauna, but here the jungle was eerily silent. The facility had been a massive structure. While most of it was scorched and crumbling, a huge, fractured dome rose nearly to the top of the tree line. Support beams criss-crossed through the dimming daylight, occasionally interrupted by panes of glass that hadn't yet shattered. Within the structure, a dark silhouette was perched on some branches that had grown through the structure. As they drew nearer, the shadow stirred, and suddenly expanded as she spread her wings and dove towards them. Letting out a shriek that was eerily close to human, but closer to a bird of prey, she swooped down, talons outstretched. Steve and Sam ducked, falling belly-down on the ground below to avoid the razor-sharp nails. Then, with a rush of her twenty-foot wings, she vanished into the treetops overhead.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky asked out loud. He had gotten an impression of black and white feathers, long sharp nails and a still-human face with dark, terrified eyes.

"Whatever she is, she isn't getting far," Sam replied, pointing. A wire cable glinted in the dim light, leading from the skeletal dome and tracing a path through the trees overhead. "I'll catch up." He took off, keeping low to the ground at first, then soaring up through the trees. The branches were close together in the canopy, making it hard to maneuver, but his attention was focused ahead of him. He noted the frantic flutter of wings as she noticed she was being followed, and the abrupt swerve between a tree and a rocky cliff, then a steep bank under an overhang. He almost didn't make the turns himself. If she had been completely free, she probably would have lost him, but the cable twined through the branches during her unexpected detour. He heard the crackles of branches snapping under the strain of the long tether, and her frustrated screech as she reached the end of it. He flew up the rock face to find her perched on a ledge, eyes wild as she realized she was trapped. He landed and retracted his wings, then crouched down with his hands up, palms towards her.

"It's okay, it's okay," he said, trying to keep his tone soothing as he took a slow step towards her. "I'm not going to hurt you." She was holding her wings as if they were a cloak, covering the rest of her body. The striking black and white feathers continued up her back, and instead of hair she had long, shining plumes. At the moment, they were standing up, making her appear larger. Her face, at least, remained human, with wide, almond-shaped eyes and delicate features. All he could see of her body was one leg, pulled out of her center of balance. Around the ankle, a severe-looking metal cuff was clamped around her ankle. The skin around it was chafed and bleeding, layers of injury that hadn't been given a chance to heal. Sam grimaced slightly. "That looks painful. Will you let me try to take that off, so I can get a closer look?" She looked at him warily. "I might be able to help," he explained.

" _Doctor_?" she trilled. He shook his head.

"More of a medic," he explained. It wasn't until after he replied that he realized her words had not been in English, though he understood them as if they had been.

" _Doctors did this to me_ ," she responded, the statement a warbling shriek. Sam nodded, hands still raised.

"I know, and I'm sorry," he said softly. "They shouldn't have done this to you." Her guarded expression turned disbelieving.

" _You… can understand me?"_ she whistled. Sam sighed and nodded.

"I can. It's… kind of a long story. I can explain later. Right now, I want to get that tether off and get a look at your leg," he replied. "Then, if you like, I can get you away from this place. Either way, you'll be free." Hesitantly, she took a step towards him.

" _Go where?"_  she asked suspiciously. He shrugged.

"We have a… place at sea. Safe from those who would take advantage. We protect each other, work and play together. Nearly everyone aboard has a similar story to yours." She paused, her eyes flickering speculatively over his body, looking for alterations but finding none.

" _Do you?"_ she asked. He grinned broadly at her.

"Let me take a look at that leg, and I'll tell you my whole story," he bargained. She regarded him for a moment, then sidled closer. Sam handily picked the lock holding the shackle closed. As he removed it, the tension on the wire sent it flying backwards, leaves shuddering and branches springing back in its wake. She held very still as Sam dressed her ankle with the supplies from his field kit. He kept talking as he worked, keeping his tone soothing as he sensed her still-unsettled nerves. "After this, you can do whatever you want. You could join us, go back to your family, travel the world… as long as you stay out of trouble…"

" _My family is gone,"_ she interrupted him with a low, mournful whistle. " _My village thinks I'm a monster. If I go back, they will try to kill me."_

"Well, we can't have that." Sam frowned slightly as he carefully cleaned necrotic tissue out of her wounds. He glanced up at her. "What's your name?"

" _Ansina,"_  she replied. He grinned.

"Nice to meet you, Ansina," he said. "I'm Sam."

* * *

Bucky scanned the dark treetops worriedly. It had been a long time since Sam had disappeared after their target. Rifle at the ready, he peered through the gloom, trying to get a glimpse of movement that would tell him his friend was okay.

"Relax, Buck," Steve said from behind him. "He would have radioed for help if he needed it."

"Unless he can't," Bucky pointed out. "Maybe we should go look for him."

"Give him a few more minutes," Nat suggested. "Sam is actually quite capable."

"Wow, high praise coming from you!" Sam quipped, landing lightly on the ground next to them. Natasha looked somewhat abashed that he had overheard her compliment. A moment later, a slim figure touched down next to him with a rustle of feathers. Her head barely reached his chest, but her wings added to her unique presence. "Everyone, this is Ansina. Ansina, this is Steve, Bucky and Natasha."

"Welcome, Ansina," Steve said, and took a deep breath. Sam held a hand up before he could launch into his usual spiel about joining them.

"I've already filled her in. She wants to come with us," he assured them. She let out a high-pitched keen that trailed off in a warble. Sam nodded. "She says its nice to meet you." Bucky's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, but for once he kept his peace.

* * *

"It's a great honor just to be asked," Pepper pointed out as she and Tony strolled through the park. Copper trotted eagerly ahead of them, her leash taut in Pepper's hand, but at least she didn't pull so much anymore. "But you should only take it if you're sure you want it."

"I know, I know," Tony grimaced. "It's a bad idea, isn't it? It's a bad idea."

"Well, I have a company to run," Pepper pointed out. "I can't be there to hold your hand all the time."

"True," Tony said meditatively. "And believe it or not, diplomacy may not be my strongest suit." Pepper burst out laughing.

"There's the understatement of the century," she chuckled. For a moment, Tony looked affronted, then shrugged and sighed.

"Then it's settled. I won't take the job. I'll have to tell the President to move on to his next candidate for Secretary of State," he declared.

"I think that would be for the best," Pepper agreed.

"My ambitions lately have been in different directions, anyway," Tony continued. "Some a bit closer to home." Pepper made a noncommittal noise. He stopped and turned to face her. "Last night, I dreamt, we had a kid. So real. We named him after your eccentric uncle. Uh, what was his name?" Pepper raised her eyebrows at him. "Morgan! Morgan, that was it. And it was so real, you know what I mean? Like when you dream you have to pee, and then you wake up, and you really have to pee?" Pepper raised her eyebrows at him.

"So you woke up, and thought we were…"

"Expecting," Tony finished the sentence for her. "Yeah?" She gave him a tolerant smile, then shook her head.

"No," she said unequivocally. "We're not."

"But maybe we could be," Tony suggested. "Look, I know I haven't always been the best boyfriend… fiancé… whatever. But I think I'm getting better. And I think… maybe I'm ready. Maybe we're ready." Pepper regarded him for several moments, and then her face softened.

"Maybe," she agreed. She pressed Copper's leash into Tony's palm. "Tell you what. You take over taking care of Copper. You feed her, you walk her, you take her to training sessions, you pick up her poop. If you can do that, after the wedding, we can discuss it." Tony's eyes widened, and he looked from her to the Golden Retriever and back again. His fingers curled around the nylon leash.

"You don't believe I can do it," he accused. Pepper only smiled.

"Feel free to prove me wrong," she replied. "Here are the bags." She handed him a small roll of plastic bags, and he looked down at them in confusion.

"These are… these are for…"

"The dog's poop, Tony," Pepper said in exasperation, pointing. He turned to see Copper squatting over the grass.

"Ah… oh." Tony considered the fragrant brown pile, then shrugged. "I can do this." Tearing off a bag, he bent over and collected the little mound.

"Tony Stark, I'm Doctor Stephen Strange. I need you to come with me. Oh, uh, congratulations on the wedding, by the way." Tony straightened and turned to see an eccentrically handsome man with a goatee and long, flowing robes, looking like he had gotten separated from his LARP group.

"I'm sorry, are you selling tickets or something?" Tony asked in irritation.

"We need your help," Dr. Strange replied, ignoring the snarky comment. "It's not overselling it to say the fate of the universe is at stake."

* * *

They had just boarded their aircraft when Steve's phone rang, a ringtone Bucky had heard only once before. Not his usual phone, but the other one, the one he always carried, just in case. Steve's eyes widened, and he stopped and answered.

"Tony?" he answered hesitantly. Bucky shot him a questioning look. Steve nodded and held up a finger, then turned away from them to concentrate on his conversation. The others exchanged puzzled looks. Sam ushered Ansina to a comfortable seat, getting her a blanket and helping her get settled in. She was regarding him with a kind of amazement, like she had never seen anything like him before. Bucky watched the pair with some amusement.

"Looks like she's imprinted on him," Natasha murmured from off to his left. Bucky glanced at her. She was watching the pair with a faint smile on her face.

"I always knew he had maternal tendencies," Bucky joked. Natasha chuckled at his jest, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Okay, change of plans," Steve announced as he strode back into the passenger compartment. "We're going to make a slight detour, pick up Vision and Wanda. Then we have to see how many are willing to leave Sanctuary and come with us."

"Come with us where?" Natasha asked curiously. "To do what?" Steve spread his hands expansively.

"To try and save the universe."

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Bucky asked. "We could just hide Vision here until this whole thing blows over." Steve shook his head.

"Too dangerous," he declared. "If they do find us, it puts everyone on board at risk. I think Wakanda's our best bet. Shuri can help us figure out a way to safely get the stone out of Vision without killing him. But he's got an army. With the entire universe at stake, I only think it's fair to give them the option to help, don't you?"

"You think they'll want to risk their lives, when they just got them back?" Sam asked dubiously. Bucky nodded slowly after a moment.

"Most of them aren't short on courage," he pointed out. "And this would give them a cause… A purpose." The others nodded thoughtfully. As idyllic as their time aboard had been, not everyone had yet discovered a role to play in their little community. Steve watched all the citizens of  _Sanctuary_ file into the mess hall, which was the largest room on the ship, and wondered when he'd started thinking of them as citizens. He recalled each of their names as they walked by, recalled where they had found them, what their abilities were. Bucky, Bruce and Natasha stood beside him on his left, Sam, Wanda and Vision on his right. They all watched the crowd soberly, the weight of their next mission and of what they would be asking of the others resting heavily upon them. The chatter and laughter in the room lightened the atmosphere, but Steve knew that in a few short minutes, it would be gone. He stepped forward to address the room, and the conversations stopped.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news," he announced. Now that the room was silent, his voice carried. "As we speak, a being named Thanos is headed for Earth, with the intention of capturing the Infinity Stones and using them to wipe out half of all life in the universe. We intend to stop him, but we will need all the help we can get to do that. And so we are asking of you what I never wanted to have to ask of you. This fight will not be easy, and I can't promise that everyone will survive it. But if any of you are willing to risk your lives, for the sake of the planet, the universe… life itself… we are asking for volunteers." He stepped back and nodded at Bucky, who stepped forward and translated the speech for those citizens were still shaky on English. The murmurs of conversation were rising, and by the time he was done, the sound in the mess hall had risen to a dull roar.

The first group to step forward was the dozen men and women that Sam had dubbed the Suicide Squad. Hydra had increased their aggression levels, increased their strength, and completely desensitized them to pain. Since they could feel nothing, they could literally tear themselves apart fighting, and not stop until their lives ran out. Despite this risk, they loved nothing better. They had mostly spent their time since joining  _Sanctuary_ beating the tar out of each other in the gym. After stitching up several serious lacerations and setting multiple fractured bones, Sam had insisted on instituting a new rule that they stop as soon as they saw blood.

"Shocker," Sam muttered behind Bucky's back. Bucky wasn't surprised, either. He was slightly startled when Gretchen and the Stormbringers stepped up next. Even Felix was standing beside his mother, looking slightly nervous but eager at the same time. Next was the group that Mutt had been culled from. Bucky had been impressed by Mutt's dog form… until he met the rest of them. The five canine fighters came nearly to his waist, heavily-muscled and sharp-fanged. In human form, they were equally impressive. Towering well over six feet, they were broad-shouldered and powerful. Remigiusz had even challenged Steve to arm wrestle on one memorable occasion. Steve insisted that he let him win, but Bucky wasn't sure he completely believed him. Not far behind them were Maren and Lina, the Poison Queens, two girls who had been rendered immune to most poisons but carried so much of it in their bodies that just a touch could kill. They typically wore gloves on the ship, out of courtesy to the others, but now they stripped them off and wiggled their fingers cheerfully in Steve's direction, signaling their willingness to kill for him.

They stepped forward more quickly now. Ember and Ignatius flamed forward. Varian and Misu materialized among their ranks. Even Ansina, barely aboard long enough to get acquainted with her new quarters, stepped forward to join them. By individuals and by groups, their numbers grew, until half of Sanctuary's population was standing, waiting for Steve's next instructions. Bucky looked over at his oldest friend as a grin spread across his face.

"Looks like Thanos isn't the only one with an army."

* * *

T'Challa met them at the Wakanda border, flanked by the Dora Milaje. Steve went ahead to greet the king.

"Grim news, Captain," T'Challa greeted him. "Wakanda's resources, the Dora Milaje, and the army are at your disposal."

"Thank you," Steve replied. "It seems like I am always thanking you for something."

"And how many are you bringing with you?" T'Challa inquired. "When you left, you were sixteen, but some were only children." Steve nodded.

"Those numbers have grown," he confessed. Turning slightly, he watched as a double column of warriors marched down the gangway. They had spent the time it took to travel back to Wakanda in strategy sessions, attack drills, defense techniques. Those who wanted it had been armed. They weren't exactly well-disciplined troops, but they could do plenty of damage. "They're not your average soldiers, but they fight for the fate of the universe with us. Most of them have particularly deadly talents that should be helpful in the coming fight. All told, one hundred eighty-five." T'Challa looked impressed.

"You are full of surprises today, Captain," he noted. "I like this one better than the one that brings you here. Speaking of which…" he gestured to Wanda and Vision, gliding towards them several feet off the ground. "Bring them directly to Shuri's lab," he directed. Nobomi and Cebisa saluted with arms crossed over chest and took off, flying towards the pair and escorting them towards the palace.

* * *

The battlefield was tense, watching Thanos' forces attacking the edge of the forcefield. Bucky looked around at the warriors lined up to do battle alongside him. Beside Wakanda's trained and polished fighters, the Sanctuary fighters seemed piecemeal, but after leading them in drills and seeing what they could do, he knew the situation wasn't nearly as hopeless as it appeared at first glance.

"How much longer, Shuri?" T'Challa asked over his earpiece.

"At least another half hour, brother." Shuri sounded both distracted and annoyed at the interruption. "But more would be better." She frowned as she concentrated on her task, bent over Vision as she tried to separate his essence from the stone in his head. Wanda watched anxiously from her post by the window, glancing out over the battlefield and then back to the man she loved, supine on the table. Stationed around the lab, watching warily for any sign of a threat, the Stormbringers stood at attention. Gretchen and Felix exchanged glances, a mother's concern for her son and a boy's determination to not let his fear win. Gretchen squared her shoulders, her lips curving up into a proud smile.

* * *

The force field opened at T'Challa's command, allowing the invaders to spill through, and the two armies approached each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Ember and Ignatius burst into flame and plow through the oncoming wave, leaving flames and screeching in their wake. Remigiusz and the combat canines shifted and sprinted towards the front lines, baying and snarling in anticipation of blood. With a bellow, Matvei led the Suicide Squad forward to meet the aliens, swinging a broadsword in one hand and a battle axe in the other. Bucky wasn't sure where he had gotten either item, but he was fervently glad they were on the same side. Then the first aliens came in range of his gun, and he narrowed his field of focus to the fight coming to him. Raising his rifle, he shot the one nearest him, watching the creature stumble and falter but continue towards him. Three more bullets, and it was unresponsive on the ground. Watching how it had reacted to each hit told him where its most vulnerable points were. It wouldn't take him that many shots again.

* * *

Felix swallowed hard as the sounds of battle drew nearer. They were in the palace now. Shuri's face was intense in concentration, her work too delicate to be interrupted. The technology she had provided them allowed them access to nearly unlimited electrical power, although they did have to be careful to leave her enough. Stepping into the hall outside the lab, they faced the strange enemy that approached. Side by side, mother and son unleashed a torrent of electrical fury at the bizarre creatures. Behind them, Shuri continued to work feverishly as Wanda looked on.

* * *

The ground beneath their feet was turning to mud with the blood that had been spilled. It was difficult to tell from the ground who was winning. Bucky had lost count of the aliens that had dropped under fire from his weapon and the alien bodies he had stepped over in his pursuit of the next target. But he had encountered lifeless remains of those he recognized as well. His brain acknowledged them but filed them away to mourn later. The battlefield was no place for sentiment. He could still see Steve fighting a hundred yards away, and Falcon soared overhead, Ansina trailing not far behind. Suddenly, a bright light descended from the heavens, landing with a crackle of lighting and clap of thunder in the middle of the field. Out of the bright light strode a man of otherworldly beauty and strength. Bucky's first thought was that this was an angel, but then the man greeted Steve as if they were old friends. Close behind the not-angel, he spotted… a walking tree and a raccoon with a machine gun. After the months he had spent on  _Sanctuary_ , he thought he had seen all the strangest things the cosmos could muster, but evidently he was still able to be taken by surprise. Filing this away as something to react to later, he returned his attention to the fight. He took out a couple more invaders, then glanced around and realized that he was surrounded. Whichever one he faced first, he would have even more at his back. He noticed the racoon with the machine gun was only a few feet away. Without hesitation, he picked the critter up and spun in a circle, firing his own weapon in one direction while the racoon mowed the rest of them down with glee. In short order, the field around them was cleared of opponents. Bucky set down the racoon, who was chortling with glee.

"How much for the gun?" He glanced down and realized that the racoon was talking to him. Not just talking to him, but trying to bargain. For his weapon. In the middle of a battle.

"Not for sale," he said flatly.

"Okay. How much for the arm?" came the next question. Bucky was not about to get into some sort of negotiations in the middle of a battle for the universe with a talking raccoon that he just met. Besides, he needed his arm. Giving the raccoon a withering look, he moved to a different part of the battle, putting space between himself and the animal.

* * *

"I did it." Shuri's words were first barely above a whisper, as if she could scarcely believe that it was done. She repeated it, a little louder. "I did it." Carefully, she pried the glowing gem out of the forehead of the man lying on the table before her. "How do you feel?" she asked him. He blinked his pale blue eyes.

"Strangely weak," he said with surprise. "Is this what it feels like… to be human?"

"Maybe. You'll get used to it," Shuri assured him. "Wanda, get this thing out of my lab!" She held the Mind Stone out at arm's length, cradled in her tool. Wanda nodded, relief stark on her face. Extending her hand, she launched herself with the stone out of the window, seeking to put as much distance between Vision and the object that had imperiled his life as possible. Landing deep in the forest, she set the stone down on a flat rock and began blasting it with energy, trying to overload the stone. In her distraction, she didn't see the Titan until he was nearly on top of her.

"Wanda, so nice of you to bring me the final stone," Thanos rumbled.

"No!" she screamed, and sent a stream of energy to push him away. With a smile, he deflected it.

"I already have the stone that gave you your powers," he pointed out. "You can't affect me." Pushing her aside as if she were just a little girl, he picked up the Mind Stone and set it in the remaining empty setting in his gauntlet. He sighed as the power rippled through him, and raised his hand.

"THANOS!" The mad Titan turned at his name, and a blur soared towards him, lightning crackling through the air. A great axe rent the air, searing pain shot through his shoulder. The Titan looked down to see his left arm lying on the grass, gauntlet still attached to the suddenly-lifeless limb. He looked in shock at the wrathful visage of Thor, who had a triumphant gleam in his eye. "That was for my brother," he snarled. Then he swung Stormbringer again, and Thanos' head tumbled on to the ground next to the severed arm. A moment later, the ground shook as his body fell. Thor smiled in satisfaction. Steve came up next to him, blood splattered across his uniform. They both stared at the fallen Titan for a long moment.

"I can't believe it's over," Steve finally said. He pushed the severed left arm over with his foot, and the gauntlet rolled, revealing the Infinity Stones set into the back of it. "Now what the hell do we do with this?"


	56. The End of the Beginning

The loud screech of her alarm clock roused Nyssa from her sound sleep. She stirred briefly, her face buried in soft, familiar warmth, and silenced the reminder. With a sigh, she rolled over and stretched. Her bed companion opened his eyes briefly, yawned and then shut them again. Nyssa chuckled and rubbed his head.

"Not going to join me this morning, sleepyhead?" she teased. She had gotten used to having him in bed with her. His presence drowned out the others always present at the edge of her perception, and she slept much better than she otherwise would have. Rolling out of bed, she padded over to where her yoga mat was still set up on the balcony and began her usual morning routine. With a grunt, Darshan jumped out of the bed and paced over next to her, his toenails clicking softly against the floor. He couldn't actually do most of the poses, of course – his body was a different construction than hers – but he did join in some of the early easy stretches, then lay down on the yoga mat she had set up next to hers and just watched her instead. She completed her usual routine, finishing with a meditation to help center herself and quiet both her own mind and the intrusive thoughts of others that came from living in New York City, then headed to the shower.

Darshan sniffed disapprovingly as she stepped out of the shower. He preferred when she was stinky; the smells of her body telling the story of where she had been and who she was. She smiled and scratched behind his ears.

"Well, you can go to the dog park smelling like dead things and make plenty of friends," she reminded him. "If I go out smelling like dead things, people will think I'm homeless and start to avoid me." He snuffled his opinion of that, and Nyssa shrugged. "Yeah, you're probably right. Humans are silly." She padded back to her room and quickly dressed, then tucked her cyber widget behind her ear and sat down at her makeup table. Rather than a mirror, she had a camera set up so that she could see her face enough to apply just enough makeup to hide the little lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth, then finished it off with a touch of color above her eyes and some subtle pink lip gloss. Darshan sat pointedly next to her and snuffled quietly.

"Okay, okay. I've made you wait long enough." Slipping on a pair of flip-flops, she walked Darshan down the fifteen floors to bring him outside to relieve himself. He did his business quickly, then it was back upstairs for breakfast for both of them. Nyssa's kitchen was organized into sections and labeled with Braille strips to help her find what she needed. Darshan still got a little nervous whenever she got out her knives – there had been a few spectacularly bloody mishaps early on – but it had been months since she had even so much as nicked herself. She sautéed some mushrooms, tomatoes, peppers and spinach, then added eggs and cheese for a breakfast scramble. Darshan was happy with his kibble and finished eating before Nyssa even had her food on her plate. She didn't bother sitting down at the table, preferring to eat standing up. In between bites, she sorted through the pile of seemingly random items taking up space on the counter. Socks, water bottles, nail clippers, bars of soap, maxi pads, toothbrushes, toothpaste, band aids, lip balm, granola bars and packs of gum were all sorted into piles, packed into gallon ziplock bags, and then loaded into her waiting backpack. Opting for her sturdy tennis shoes this time, she shouldered her heavy backpack before slipping on Darshan's working harness and leading him down the hall, locking the door behind them.

Three blocks from her apartment building, she made their first stop. Putting Darshan in a sit, she got the first care package out of her backpack.

"Good morning, John," she said gently to the still form slouched down next to the dumpster in the alley. The figure stirred, then awoke, suspicion and irritation at being disturbed softening into ease when he saw it was her. She set a care package down next to him. "Happy Friday!" He didn't reply, but he reached out a shaking hand towards the bag and pulled it close to him. He wasn't big on conversation, and Nyssa wasn't going to push him to chat. Without waiting for a thank you she knew likely wasn't coming, she set off for her next stop.

Myron was as talkative as John was taciturn. He spotted her coming from half a block away, and set about straightening up the garbage in the alley next to him

"Good morning, Myron!" she called. He waved.

"Mornin,' sweetheart!" he responded. "What's a nice girl like you doing in an alley like this?"

"Oh, you know," she replied, "Just dropping some things off." She proffered the care package, and he took it eagerly.

"Man, oh man, you always know exactly what I need," he marveled, turning the package over to examine its contents. "Except… no cigarettes again." Nyssa chuckled and pulled a pack out of her pocket, tapping a couple cigarettes out into his hand. He lit one and took a long drag, then sighed in satisfaction. "That's what I'm talking about. You shouldn't smoke these, though, sweetheart. They're terrible for you."

"I don't smoke, Myron. Not anymore," she said lightly. His eyes widened.

"No? So maybe I can have a few more?" he asked speculatively. She smiled at him.

"Maybe next time," she replied. He shrugged.

"You can't blame a guy for trying," he sighed.

"Certainly not," she agreed. "Have a good day, Myron!" She was off again. She still had to stop and see Pascal, Taryn, Serena, Ed, Marla, Timoteo, Roland, Magda and Chris. Some of them wanted to chat, some of them wanted a hug, all of them were relieved to start their day out with their humanity acknowledged. These mornings usually took her a few extra hours before she made it in to work, but it always put her in a good mood by the time she reached the building. Her office was on the eighteenth floor, right across from the Law Office of Seraphina Grey. Sera had garnered a reputation as the Superhero lawyer, thanks to all her hard work with the EPDC. Between a few high-profile cases and the well-established Enhanced Persons Defense Fund, her notoriety had grown to the point she quit her partner position. She now worked full time representing Enhanced persons, primarily in civil rights and discrimination cases, but there were occasional criminal charges or civil disputes. Nyssa walked into Sera's office without knocking and set a little gift bag down on her desk.

"Hey, you know most people have to make an appointment to walk into my office," Sera called teasingly from the filing room.

"Even if they come bearing gifts?" Nyssa shot back. "I brought you a souvenir back from Vegas." Sera's interest flared.

"Oooh, what is it? Jewelry? Winning casino tokens? A poker set? Las Vegas shot glass?" she queried. Nyssa chuckled.

"Something a little more unique than that," she replied, gesturing to the gift bag.

"Of course," Sera said delightedly, picking up the bag and pulling out an intricately carved wooden box. The base of it was a fluffy, white cloud, and suspended over it on a wire was a cherubic pig, chubby wings extended. Her fingers found the little key on the bottom of it, and wound it up. Tinny music box notes plunked out the tune to "The Impossible Dream" while the pig flapped its wings and soared through the delicately carved clouds. "Oh my god, you got me a flying pig." Sera laughed out loud.

"See, so now when people doubt your abilities and tell you pigs will fly before you reach your goal, you can tell them that you've already got the flying pig," Nysa said with a grin. Sera shook her head in bemusement.

"How is it that you always find the most amazing things?" she asked, holding the music box up closer to eye level to see the details in the wood carving. Nyssa shrugged.

"You know me. It's what I do. I find things," she said lightly.

"Speaking of which, did you find those girls?" Sera asked, looking at her friend sharply. Nyssa nodded.

"I did. And the bastards that took them in the first place. They are in custody of the Las Vegas Police Department, and the girls are on their way home." Nyssa smiled in satisfaction, turning and leaning back against Sera's desk. Suddenly, her smile faded, and hazel eyes widened. "Sera… do you know any reason why someone would be in my office?"

"Oh, that's right. I let him in. He said he wanted to discuss something with you. I warned him you'd be in late, but he said he'd wait," Sera replied distractedly, still admiring her gift. Nyssa didn't move and didn't reply, still staring straight ahead, one hand absently fiddling with her necklace. Darshan whined and nudged her other hand. Sera glanced over at her friend, saw the expression on her face and did a double take. "Holy shit,  _he's_  your Jimmy?" Nyssa blinked and glanced over at Sera, her hand jerking guiltily away from the pendant.

"Hmm?" she said absently. Seraphina moved in front of her.

"James Buchanan Barnes, formerly the Winter Solder, currently Captain America, is your Jimmy?" she asked, disbelief overlaying the forced patience in her tone. Nyssa didn't reply, but the color that rose in her cheeks and the sheepish grin on her face gave Sera her answer. "You brat!" she squealed, smacking Nyssa playfully on the shoulder. "You didn't even really change his name. James. Jimmy. I can't believe you!"

"Well, to be fair, nobody calls him Jimmy." Nyssa finally found her voice.

"I'm going to, from now on," Sera announce smugly. "Though I can understand why you kept it a secret, with his past, the things he was made to do… and the fact that he was in hiding at the time." Nyssa raised an eyebrow at her friend.

"How do you know so much about him?" she inquired. Sera grinned smugly.

"Who do you think helped him get his record expunged after the government issued a blanket pardon for all the Avengers?" the lawyer replied. Nyssa's jaw dropped.

"When was this?" she spluttered.

"Last April. You were out of town… I think, tracking down that plane that crashed in Alaska," Sera recalled. She put her hands on Nyssa's shoulders. "Now, are you going to keep him waiting all day? Or are you going to go talk to him?"

* * *

Standing in Nyssa's office was a little bit like being in her presence. Even when she wasn't there, it was a soothing space. The books in her bookcase shared the space with a tiny waterfall trickling over rocks, and a pot of tiny purple and white flowers by the window filled the room with a sweet scent. Her degrees and awards were arranged on one wall, surrounding a plaque that read "Do no harm, but take no shit." The desk was bare save for a metal box that he suspected was a computer, but lacked a mouse, keyboard or even a display. Next to the computer was a small holder with a stack of business cards with the same words that were embossed on the door:  _Patchwork Doll Search and Rescue._ The room's largest feature was the window, which provided a lovely view of the city bustling down below and the sun reflecting off the river in the distance. It was almost soothing enough to calm the butterflies in his stomach, but not quite. He had spent the first half hour soaking in the details of her space, but then was drawn to the window, watching the city below.

The door opened, and he turned to see her standing there. Her skin had a healthy, sun-kissed glow, her muscles more defined than he remembered. Her hair was short, barely past her ears, but the soft curls that framed her heart-shaped face had been less obvious when she had worn it longer. Her hazel eyes were wide, and still seemed to see through to his soul. That had not changed. Also the same was her mouth, lips parted breathlessly, and he suddenly recalled what it had felt like to kiss them. Beside her, a nearly-black dog with piercing pale blue eyes regarded Bucky with less affection and more suspicion than his owner/partner.

"Hello, Bucky," she said after a long moment, as she found her breath again. "How can I help you?" The pain and darkness that had clouded his otherwise bright spirit had lessened, although it had not vanished completely. The weight of his experiences curved of his shoulders, and his personal demons still whispered, though they didn't howl anymore. The invisible scars of his past would never completely disappear. His confidence had grown, his head held higher. This was a man who knew exactly who he was and was comfortable in his capabilities. His intention was not immediately obvious, though he was nervous about something. She knew what her heart hoped it was, but it seemed foolhardy to assume his feelings were the same. He had come to her professional office, so a professional approach seemed more prudent, at least to begin with. His countenance rippled with surprise at her quick shift into business mode, and he let out a huff of nervous laughter.

"I hear you're the one to ask if you need someone found," he said hesitantly. She raised her eyebrows. A job, then. She tucked her hope and her heart away and settled fully into Patchwork Doll. Glancing away, she nodded.

"I am." Crossing the room in front of him, she snapped her fingers and pointed at a dog bed on the far side of her desk. "Darshan, on post." The dog trotted to the cushion and sat at attention, ears pricked, eyes focused on her. "Unless you just want pictures or proof of a cheating partner. Those cases I refer to Alias Investigations. But if someone's missing, or kidnapped, or in danger… Yes. We can find them. Who do you need found?" She settled into her office chair and looked up at him expectantly, tucking her cyber widget behind her ear and resting her hand on the computer on her desk.

"Ah, I'm looking for… a woman," Bucky said, sitting down in a chair on the other side of her desk. "She, ah… she has something of mine." He paused. Nyssa quirked an eyebrow upwards.

"I usually need a little more to go on than that," she said wryly. "Names are helpful, of course, but descriptions are best. Not just physical descriptions, but whatever you can remember about who they are as a person. And the standard ones, last time you saw them, why you're looking for them, that kind of thing." Bucky leaned forward, his presence suddenly more intense as he focused on her, cleared his throat and then looked down. Her heart skipped a beat.

"She has the gentlest, most beautiful spirit of anyone you'll ever meet," he began meditatively. "But woe be he who tries to take advantage. She has a knack for turning terrible situations into opportunities. Bright in every sense of the word. She sees the best in people, unless they force her to face their worst, but she handles that equally well. Short, petite, but you'd never call her small. Dark hair. Eyes of amber green, or hazel blue, or blue with flecks of emerald, depending on her mood, but no matter what the color, they always see you, acknowledge you. She sees those the world deems invisible, raises up the downtrodden, helps those others think are beyond help, and always stands up for what is right. Her smile can light up a room or even make your heart stop for a moment." He glanced up at her. He was not normally given to such long speeches or flowery prose, but he had been thinking about her a lot in the past few weeks, and apparently the thoughts had been given enough time to wax poetic. Now in moment, he feared the words were awkward and inane. She was sitting absolutely still, eyes wide, lips parted slightly, cheeks turning from pink to crimson. Taking a breath, he forged ahead. "The last time I saw her, we were in Wakanda. I am looking for her because… I think she still has my heart." He reached the end of the impromptu speech, and waited for her response, tension coiled in his stomach and heart stuck in his throat. The silence hung in the room like an additional, oppressive presence. She drew in a shaky breath, her right hand fidgeting nervously with the pendant around her neck. She dropped her hands into her lap self-consciously, and he recognized the necklace he had given her.

"She's right here," she breathed. He didn't consciously choose to stand, but found himself on his feet, buoyed up by a flood of emotion. He stepped around the desk, wanting to be rid of the furniture between them. By the time he reached the other side, she was on her feet, face upturned toward his. He paused for a moment, cupping her head in his hands, her hair tickling softly against his finger, then bent and pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth was warm and inviting, just as soft and tantalizing as he remembered. She reached up, her hands tracing up the back of his arms and clinging to his shoulders. The anxiety that had been curling in the pit of his stomach melted into warmth and transmuted into a different feeling entirely. He straightened up, breaking off the kiss, but didn't let her go. His left hand still cradled her head, metal fingers lost in her tousled curls, while the fingers of his right hand traced down along her cheek and her jaw.

"You said two years, right?" he recalled. "It's been two years." Her lips curved into a droll grin.

"It's been three and a half years," she corrected softly, "but who's counting?"

"You, apparently," he said ruefully. "I kept hoping our paths would cross, or that maybe one day you'd stop by Avengers Tower." She glanced down, looking guilty.

"I haven't always had the greatest judgement where you're concerned," she admitted. "I thought it best to err on the side of caution and give you space."

"We can agree to disagree on that point," Bucky countered. "I think it was exactly what I needed then. Right now, I'm a bit more in favor of this amount of space." He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her back, pulling her closer. She smiled up at him, and he felt the familiar skip in his chest. A faint whine came from the other side of the desk, and Nyssa's head whipped around to regard her dog with a reproving look.

"That's enough out of you," she scolded, the words softened by her smile. Bucky gave her a questioning look, and she grinned sheepishly. "He thinks you smell like trouble." Bucky let out a startled chuckle.

"Well, all things considered, he's not wrong," he admitted. "But I'm not trying to cause any trouble. What I do have…" he paused, reluctantly releasing her to fish something out of his pocket. "…are concert tickets," he finished as he produced them, holding them out towards her before remembering that she wouldn't be able to see them or read them. Grabbing her hand, he pressed the important scraps of paper into her palm. "I was hoping you might join me."

"For when?" she asked hesitantly.

"Ah, tonight," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So sure I'd be available on such short notice?" she teased with a grin. "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"It was kind of an impulsive thing, but I thought it was a risk worth taking," he confirmed. "So…?" She reached up, standing on her tiptoes to reach his mouth, and kissed him again.

"It's a date," she said decisively. "Maybe throw in dinner, too. We have a lot to catch up on."

* * *

By the time he arrived at her address, the floating feeling had dissipated, and nerves had set in. She seemed happy enough to accept his invitation, but a lot had happened in the time they'd been apart. The kiss had been electric; his lips were still tingling hours later. But he wasn't looking for something purely physical. He had tried that, in the interim, and found it satisfying in the moment but not what he wanted. Certainly not with her. He knocked on her door. It opened to reveal her, dressed in a lacy, frilly lavender top and tight jeans. The ensemble was topped off with black boots that somehow managed to look both stylish and practical. They also made her a couple inches taller. She smiled at him.

"Hey, Doll," he said softly. Her grin stretched even more broadly.

"Is that a term of endearment, or are you using my professional name?" she asked teasingly.

"Can't it be both?" he replied. She laughed.

"Only for you," she quipped, glancing over her shoulder. "Question. Do you want to be my eyes for the evening, or shall I bring Darshan?" He looked in the direction she had glanced and saw the dog, waiting patiently. His working harness was on the table next to him, so she hadn't committed to either option yet.

"Do you have a preference?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

"There are… logistical issues with either option. Not every restaurant is thrilled to have a dog there, even a well-trained one," she remarked. "Of course, if I don't bring him, I'll be at your mercy. If you're willing to be my eyes, there's typically quite a bit of physical contact involved." She made a gesture, unsure if he would consider that a benefit or a drawback. He chuckled softly.

"Why don't we let him have the night off?" he suggested, offering her his arm.

"Okay," she said with what he hoped was a contented sigh. "Darshan, at ease." The dog lay down, settling his chin on his paws. Flashing Bucky one of those heart-stopping smiles he had referenced earlier, she slipped her arm through his, and they were off.

* * *

He hadn't thought twice when she suggested dinner. There was one place he had grown quite fond of since his return to New York. The maître d greeted him by name and showed them to his customary table, situated in a little room in the back and separate from the rest of the restaurant. It was quiet here, and private. Nobody would eavesdrop on their conversation, and the staff was discreet. Nyssa was looking suitably impressed as she ran her fingers over the high-end table linens.

"This place usually has reservations out for months, but you come here frequently enough that they know you," she observed. He shrugged sheepishly.

"This whole Captain America gig comes with some perks," he admitted. Nyssa nodded.

"I heard about that. What happened to Steve, though? I've heard so many rumors. Some people are convinced he was killed, but it was never confirmed. Other theories are that he's on some kind of long-range undercover mission, or hiding in Antarctica, or kidnapped by aliens." Bucky grinned as he looked over the menu.

"He's just taking a break," he demurred. "After our last mission together, he was talking about how disillusioned he was with the government, SHIELD, and then the Accords. It's a rude awakening to believe you're fighting for truth and justice only to realize the ones you're working for are the bullies. So I encouraged him to take a break, promised I'd take over the shield and the title. He'll come back after he's figured out what he wants to do."

"Nice of you," Nyssa commented. He shrugged.

"That's what friends are for, right? To help carry burdens when they become too much to bear. Besides, I owe him… a lot." He looked beyond the menu for a moment, contemplating.

"And no danger of disillusionment for you?" she asked teasingly. He snorted.

"I know what they are. They believe they're better than Hydra. For the most part, they are. And they don't keep me locked up and frozen in between missions, so that's always a plus."

"True enough. So, what's good here?" she asked lightly, running a hand down the smooth menu. He glanced at her, his face suddenly flushing as he realized she had no way of reading the menu herself.

"Oh, ah… sorry about that. Should I see if they have one in…um…"

"Braille?" she finished for him. "That's unlikely." She folded the menu closed in front of her. "I will trust you to order for me tonight." Her expression was mischievous. "And just so we're clear, this is a test."

"That so?" Bucky returned. "What do I get if I pass the test?"

"My increasing admiration and respect." She folded her hands on the table in front of her with a grin. Bucky shook his head with a sideways smile and turned his attention back to the menu, now that he had two meals to choose. Despite her challenge, he found his nerves were gone, replaced by both a sense of peace and a rising excitement. Despite their time apart, and how they both had changed, he still truly enjoyed her company. As she had mentioned, they had much to catch up on. She filled him in on the events behind the articles and interviews he had read, while he talked at length about Sanctuary and the people they had rescued, Thanos and the Infinity Stones, and everything else. The conversation was captivating, and even the intermittent silences comfortable. Their food arrived, and she declared his selection for her not just acceptable, but delicious. He could have stayed there all night, listening to her talk and watching her reactions to his tales as she listened with rapt attention. For the moment, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world. It seemed like hours but still too soon when he checked the time and realized they needed to hurry if they were going to make it to the concert.

They arrived at the outdoor venue just as the band was taking the stage. Bucky paused, unsure how close he wanted to get to the stage. The strategist part of his brain that never completely shut down preferred to hang at the edge of the crowd, safe at the perimeter. But he also wanted her to have a good time, and the seats closest to the stage were usually the most prized…

"We can stay here," she said, lacing her fingers through his. "I can hear the music just fine, and I like to watch the crowd. Besides…" With a flirty smile, she raised their linked hands and twirled underneath them. "Here, we have room to dance." Grinning, he spun her around again, then reeled her in, pulled her close and kissed her thoroughly. She melted against him, her arms twining around his neck, and they just swayed to the music for a few bars, their thumping hearts adding counterpoint to the beat.

The loud music precluded most conversation, but talking wasn't really necessary. They spent some of the time dancing, some just standing and listening. As night crept up on them, so did the cold, and he noticed her starting to shiver. Taking off his jacket, he draped it over her shoulders, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against him as they both faced the stage. He didn't particularly like the cold, but he had built plenty of tolerance to it. This was nothing more than a cool autumn evening. Her arms crept out from under his jacket, her hand wrapping around his wrist. He glanced down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips curved into a blissful smile. He took a deep breath, his mouth unconsciously echoing the expression.

* * *

Half a lifetime and less than an hour later, they were walking up to her apartment, her hand set firmly in his.

"So, what did you end up doing with the Infinity Gauntlet?" she asked. He glanced around, but nobody appeared to be close enough to listen in.

"Dismantled it, which is a fancy way of saying smashed into a million tiny pieces," he replied.

"And the stones?" she inquired.

"Scattered. Steve and I took the space stone someplace it will never be found again." Out into the frigid arctic, locked in a vibranium safe in a sealed chest, cast into the sea and then buried under a mountain of ice, courtesy of an explosive-triggered avalanche. "I don't know where they took the others. Nobody knows the location of more than one."

"Seems logical," Nyssa agreed. He paused as they reached her door, reluctant for the night to end. She turned to face him, her expression alight. "Would you like to come in?"

"I don't want to impose…" he waffled. Her smile was teasing again. She stepped closer and pulled him down to her level for a kiss that left him breathless.

"I'm not ready for the night to be over yet, either," she whispered in his ear, her breath warm against his skin. "But I have a few ideas for what I'd like to do next." His eyes widened slightly, and he felt his cheeks grow hot. Women of this century were much more forward than he was used to. It was a bit strange, but he decided he liked it.

"Well, since you put it that way…" he murmured back. Humming with anticipation, she unlocked the door, then reached back and grabbed his hand, pulling him inside. He closed the door behind them with a muffled bang. Once the door was closed, he could abandon pretenses and appearances, leaving only the raw desire. Catching Nyssa around the waist, he lifted her up closer to his level, pushing her back against the door as his mouth captured hers. With a low moan, she responded with a wave of need reflected back at him. He felt her legs wrap around his waist, her arms twine around his neck, fingers running through his hair as the curves of her body pressed against his. He moved on from her pink-stained lips, slightly parted and panting, and buried his face in her neck, kissing the pulse point below her jaw and working his way down to her delicate collar bone. While his mouth was busy, his fingers found the edge of her shirt and skimmed up over the sensitive skin along her sides, making her gasp. Encouraged, he moved his hands higher, catching the edge of the scars on her stomach, then moving up to stroke and tease the silky soft skin of her breasts.

"God, Bucky, you're making me dizzy," she breathed, leaning her head back against the door with a groan. With a predatory chuckle, he tugged the gauzy top that had been teasing him all night over her head and discarded it on the floor, giving him free rein to stroke and kiss and worship the flesh he had revealed. He was rewarded with throaty moans, and she clung to him even more tightly, grinding herself into the front of his pants, which were getting quite uncomfortably tight.

A whimper from behind made him glance around and realize that they were being watched. Darshan cocked his head to the side quizzically. Nyssa made a noise that was half-sigh, half-laugh.

"We're not as alone as you thought," she noted ruefully.

"Then I guess we'll just have to move this into the bedroom," he decided, and scooped her into his arms to carry her down the hall. She giggled in anticipation, hanging onto his shoulders as he carried her down to the bedroom and deposited her on the bed. She immediately started untying and unlacing the boots she'd been wearing all evening, while Bucky kicked off his shoes and got rid of three layers of shirts, bringing his level of undress on par with hers. "Went for boots for tonight, huh?" he commented.

"I think I learned my lesson last time," she replied with a smirk.

"Ouch," he responded. She chuckled and kicked the boots off, then squirmed out of her jeans before reaching out for him. Her fingers hooked through his beltloop and pulled him closer. He let the momentum carry him towards her, then allowed his greater mass to press her back on the mattress. Her hands explored his bare chest, dancing across his well-defined pecs and tracing the old scarring along his metal shoulder. He froze for a moment, letting her explore. He closed his eyes as her touch sent sensation sparking through him, her exploring fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He had gained a few new scars since the last time, and her fingertips found all of them. Her hands roved down his abdominal muscles and tracked a trail back up his back, pulling him closer as her touch continued to tantalize and tease. He lowered himself partway down, pinning her under his hips but keeping most of his weight on his arms.

"Do I pass inspection?" he murmured huskily in her ear. She half-swallowed a laugh before he punctuated his question by capturing her mouth in his.

"I was mostly just enjoying the feel of you, but yes, of course. You've hardly changed at all. Physically, at least," she replied breathlessly after the kiss ended.

"I do have two arms this time," he pointed out wryly.

"Mmm, bonus," she quipped, running her hand lightly down his metal arm. "I don't suppose this has a vibrate feature?" Her question caught him off guard, and he laughed out loud, rolling onto his side next to her.

"I guess I forgot to ask for that option," he replied. "We'll just have to make do." With a coy smile, she pushed him the rest of the way over onto his back.

"Make something, at least," she murmured. Lowering her face to his body, she began tracing the same landmarks her fingers had found with her lips. If her fingers had left fire dancing across his skin, her mouth ignited an inferno inside him, stoking the flames with enticing strokes of her lips and tongue. He gasped as she slowly worked her way down his stomach, then unfastened his pants and continued lower. All coherent thought ceased, and he was submerged in sensation, skin against skin, hungry mouths against tender flesh, passion feeding passion, limbs tangled in joyful, ecstatic enthusiasm as they explored each other's most intimate places and found the rhythm old as time. She cried out her climax, and he followed in a baritone echo. They lay, still joined, awash in the golden denouement. She was draped across his chest, his arms wrapped around her, their legs tangled in a happy puddle. Bucky looked down at her, face pressed against his neck, her hair curling in damp, delicate patterns along her forehead.

"I still have no idea how you do that… magic," he breathed, once he was capable of words again. She certainly wasn't the only woman he'd been with, but she was the only one that could make the world disappear, send every nerve tingling and every sensation aflame. He saw fireworks and the world burned down, and he loved every minute of it.

"A good magician never reveals her secrets," she mumbled against his shoulder, eyes still closed. He chuckled, running his hand up and down her back. She laughed, too, her hands roving up his chest and playing idly with the hair sticking to his neck. He lifted his head slightly to glance at the mess on the floor, laid his head back and sighed.

"Sorry about the lamp. I'll buy you a new one," he promised. She giggled.

"If you want to. I… don't really use it anymore."

"I suppose not," he mused, raising his eyebrows at the ceiling. "I don't really use one, either. I have a candle on the desk next to the bed that Balaur likes to light when he wants my attention." She giggled and shook her head.

"I still can't believe you have a pet dragon."

"Just a small one," Bucky responded, holding his hands apart about the length of Balaur. "And I don't really think of him as a pet. He just stays in my quarters and likes to hang out with me when I'm not on missions. He's more like a tiny roommate that makes messes, hoards shiny objects, and randomly sets things on fire." Her shoulders shook with laughter.

"That sounds terrible!" she managed. He shrugged.

"Not really. They're very small fires. And he's way more affectionate than you'd think, for a reptile." He glanced down at her, rubbing his flesh hand along the muscles next to her spine. "I can't believe that you took on the FBI and won."

"Just the director of the FBI," she pointed out. "I had to do something about the price on my head."

"I'm glad you didn't decide to fake your death and change your identity again," Bucky noted.

"Thanks to you," she said. He frowned down at her, confused.

"To me?" he repeated. Her fingers traced along his collarbone, palm pressed over the point where his heart pounded against his ribs. She nodded.

"Mm-hmm. You had the courage to face yourself, reclaim yourself and your past, even with all the ugly things that were done to you, that you were made to do. In spite of the possible consequences. So I did the same, and found another way to deal with the price on my head." She sounded sleepy, but Bucky was feeling anything but. His bemusement faded and gave way to deeper emotion as he suddenly realized he wanted this, for as long as he could have it. Perhaps it was hasty, given the trajectory and brevity of their relationship, but there were few things in his life that he was certain of. At the age of 104, he was ready to settle down, and he was certain he wanted her to be a part of it. She stirred against him, aware of his shift in mood, startled by the direction his thoughts had taken.

"Nyssa, have you ever thought about…" He let his voice trail off, unsure if he wanted to say it aloud and break the spell. She lifted her head, turning her face towards him.

"Thought about what?" she asked softly. Panic suddenly clenched his stomach as he thought of her turning him down. She had said she loved him once, but it had been years. Why ruin something amazing by trying to push it faster than it was going to go naturally? Mentally backpedaling, he tried to switch gears.

"Um, about joining the Avengers?" Once he said it aloud, it made perfect sense. The thought of having her stay in Avengers Tower with the rest of them gave him a warm feeling, and his mind immediately began going over all the ways her particular skillset would help them on missions. This was slightly offset by the knowledge that she would occasionally be in danger, but she had proven able to take care of herself well enough, and as long as he was alive, he could protect her. She pushed up from him and regarded him with a frown.

"Joining the Avengers?" she repeated. He nodded, running a hand up her arm.

"We could use you," he affirmed. She was regarding him with an expression akin to horror and betrayal, and moved away from him suddenly, pulling the blanket up to cover her bare body. He felt her emotional withdrawal as well, like a wall coming down between them, and it stung.

"Is that what this was all about?" she asked bitterly. "All of this, just to try to persuade me to join the Avengers? I thought that was more Natasha's speed…"

"What? No!" Bucky half sat up, stung by her words. "That's not what this was about at all. I just thought…

"So I'm not your mission?" she asked skeptically. "The fact that Nick Fury has asked me the same thing three times in the past two months is just a coincidence?" Bucky was feeling nauseated. This conversation had taken an abrupt turn for the worst… but maybe it was still salvageable. She would know that he was telling the truth.

"Yes, it is a coincidence," he said firmly. "I had no idea he'd already asked you. He doesn't tell me his plans." He frowned. "You already told him no?" She gestured with a scowl.

"Well, obviously. I like working for myself. I set my own hours, I choose my own cases, I don't have to question my motives. I don't know if you've noticed, but I like to be the boss." She took a deep breath. "And, to be honest, I was not at all sure you'd want me there."

"You know that's not an issue," Bucky protested.

"Well, I do now," she relented. "That doesn't change the fact that I wouldn't necessarily be able to help the ones that I want to, when I want to. Not to mention the difference in approach. I tend to be a little more… understated than the rest of the Avengers. Not that it's better, it's just more my style."

"But see, that's why we need you," he replied. "You would definitely be a benefit to the team. Not just because of what you can do, but because of who you are." Her expression softened, but she still didn't look convinced. He forged ahead. "You can still be Patchwork Doll, you can still take the same cases, but have all the resources of the Avengers at your disposal. And if you wanted to do therapy again, I am sure that there are a few of us who could really use it. Plus, we have a health plan now. Everyone benefits." She was silent, her face unreadable as she pondered his words. His breath caught, waiting for her response.

"Are you asking personally, or professionally?" she finally asked. He reached out to touch her cheek, and she didn't flinch away.

"Can't it be both?" he asked. A wry smile crept across her lips.

"Is this what you want?" she asked. "You want us to be… teammates?"

"I mean, I was thinking more along the lines of, ah, partners…" he managed. Her eyes widened as the full implications of his choice of words sank in.

"Is that… you mean…" She trailed off and shook her head. "Bucky, if that's a proposal, it's one of the most convoluted proposals I've ever heard of."

"I guess I'll have to keep practicing, then," he said with a grin. The wall was coming down with a swirl of affection, and he could feel her disbelief and elation. Shaking her head, she leaned back in and pressed her lips firmly to his.

"So, is that a yes?" he asked hopefully as the kiss ended. She laughed softly.

"I told you before that I love you. I still do. But promising forever seems a little premature after just one date, don't you think?"

"Except it's not our first date…" he protested.

"Okay, after three dates," she relented. "The point still stands. I am perfectly content to keep spending time together. I'm happy to be your girlfriend, or your sweetheart, or your main squeeze… whatever term you prefer. Let the rest happen organically. Just because I'm not ready to lock the door doesn't mean I'm planning to leave. Besides…" An impish smile curled up the corners of her mouth. "…if you're going to keep practicing your proposals, I shouldn't very well say yes after the first one, now should I?" He made a face at her, and she laughed.

"And the other part of the question?" he inquired. She shrugged.

"I'm willing to consider it. Maybe on a part time basis, go on a couple missions to see how it would all work… see if I fit with the rest of the team. Is that an acceptable answer?" She raised an eyebrow at him, and he smiled.

"It's not a no, so I'll take it," he declared.

"Well, good." She smiled suggestively and ran a hand lightly over his hip, sending shivers up his spine. "Maybe we should move on to other subjects…" With a husky laugh, he recaptured her mouth with his, rolling over in the bed with her.

* * *

He awakened early, as often happened, while the sky was just starting to shift from black to twilight grey. Beside him, Nyssa was still curled up, sound asleep. He felt well-rested despite the night's activities. Even his sleep was better with her there. He lay watching her breathe until twilight filled the morning sky, then he got up and padded over to the window to watch the sun rise. She stirred a little while after he left, sitting up in bed. She looked a little lost for a moment, then noticed him by the window. The sky was starting to streak orange and pink as she joined him, her body still warm from slumber, the sheet wrapped around her torso.

"What are you looking at?" she asked uncertainly. He smiled.

"The future," he replied. Reaching out, he pulled her closer to his side. "I promised you once that I would create a life I could take pride in." She nodded.

"I remember. So, have you?" she asked. He grinned.

"I think so. But it's nothing like I imagined it would be," he admitted. She smiled.

"It hardly ever is." She leaned against him, and he wrapped both arms around her, his hands covering hers.

"You should see this sunrise," he said quietly. He felt the brief, odd pressure that came with her sharing his vision, and then it subsided as they watched the sun rise over the new day together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of this story. I hope that you enjoyed it! There is a sequel, but I don't think there has been enough interest in this story to justify reposting it on this site. If anyone is interested, the title is Ties That Bind, and it can be found over on fanfiction.net.


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